Chapter 10: The Deadlands (2/2)

//Those are creatures with a weak binding to their physical form or no physical form at all.

“Fine, fine. My question was, how dirty is it exactly?”

//This unit does not understand the question.

“Is that black ash sticky? Smelly? Does touching it lead to diseases?”

//....No.

//In fact, it can be used as fertilizer.

“Excellent. Hold on.”

Viv removed the harness and moved away from the sled. Arthur squealed miserably.

Solfis watched her move away — Yoink! Yoink!— towards a revenant in the distance. She waited as it came closer, shambling with rotten arms extended.

Revenants did not feel that dangerous when they were all stumbling around like piss-drunk freshmen on their first bender, but she did not let her guard down. They moved at the speed of a slow jog, which was quite fast when there were a lot of them. They were also durable, regenerated, and they could crush her windpipe in a second given the chance. The best way to survive was to kill those who went after her before they started a mass movement, then continue.

She had to conserve her strength to do so. This was the one exception.

The revenant had been a man in life. A peddler, she thought. He had a huge backpack strapped to his back with multiple belts, and wore durable travel clothes. But the prize was below.

“Yoink!”

She approached the unmoving form and inspected her loot.

[Boots of easy gait (enchanted): those cheaply enchanted boots relieve the wearer’s fatigue and protect their feet against the vagaries of travel. This item was cursed by its owner upon death.]

Not all vagaries of travel, apparently. The man still had the shaft of an arrow protruding from his neck. False advertising! Even here!

Also, a curse.

She might be able to do something about it.

Viv dragged the backpack up, snapping the arm bones at their base. Easier than undoing all those belts. She removed pieces of peddler from the loot and promptly fell on her ass.

That thing was heavy.

She dragged it back to the sled and opened it.

There were a lot of cooking pots that she threw away in anger. After reflection, she decided to keep one that looked like a wok. There were clothes including a fancy woman’s dress she nabbed. She threw away the glass beads, metal tools, and found the treasure in a secret pocket: a pouch of currency.

“Money.”

//This will be of use.

//But please, hurry.

Now was the time to see if her idea could work. She placed the boots on the ground and poured some of the holy water on it.

“Neriad… Ow!”

She winced in pain.

//It would be better if you did not pray to specific deities until your soul trauma is cured.

Ah.

“May you find peace in the afterlife of your own faith.”

She heard a song like a whisper, and the ‘cursed’ part dropped from the item.

“Hmm. I’m surprised that it worked.”

//As is this unit.

She tried the boots. It closed comfortably around her foot as if it had been made for her. Probably some magical thingie at work.

Now she was finally properly equipped.

Her travel continued.

The two days passed making slow but careful progress. She would leave at dawn, then find a tower mid-afternoon and huddle for the night. The abundance of black mana and her practice with the glyph awarded her with another level in mana manipulation. She felt that she was close to a breakthrough.

The idle time was also spent raising Arthur.

Her idea to treat the small dragon as a feral cat kept bearing fruit. The wily creature now understood several commands such as no, stay, come, and wait. That did not mean that she would obey them though.

Scritches were finally achieved as well.

It was brief and Viv did enjoy the feeling of warm, smooth scales, but soon Arthur huffed and retreated back to her sleeping-bag dragon lair looking like a gravely offended lady. Viv gave her space.

On the second night on the plain, Viv made camp inside of a lone guard tower standing within walking distance of a derelict village. Technically everything was within walking distance. In that case, it just meant that getting to the village took only twenty minutes or so at a jog.

The tower was on a rare elevation and gave a good view of the surrounding area. It was a simple tower with a ground floor and stone stairs to the top, from where a sentry would be able to look to the horizon. Such towers were common anywhere in the empire, Solfis had said, and used for the purpose of warning a village of monsters. A signal fire on the roof would warn nearby garrisons of an emergency. Unfortunately, the top floor had been made of wood and it was long since gone. Viv left the sled outside, but she had still dragged the golem in.

Power +1

“How does that even work?” Viv asked as she blocked the way with the crumbling door. She placed Arthur’s bedroll on the ground and started mounting the tent.

//Progress is made over time.

//But most thresholds are passed by more challenging or violent efforts.

//Soldier training alternates slow tasks and violent effort for maximum efficiency.

That sounded like interval training. Huh.

Viv took out her pot.

The door exploded inward. Something had crashed through it.

It had a fat, bulbous torso so large the opening was blocked and a horned head with multiple chins, skin white and repellent. Malevolent black eyes. And the smell!

Stone groaned under the pressure of the intruder’s push. A single putrid arm wormed its way inside.

Viv stood and reached for her rifle before her brain could even process the intrusion. Her hands grasped air.

//Shield!

Viv latched on the order like a drawing woman on a buoy. The half-sphere of black mana flickered alive before her, and not an instant too soon. The creature’s mouth was opening.

It vomited a pestilential torrent of something she did not see. The attack disintegrated on her cover as it disgorged from the open maw. She felt the revolting impact on her mystic sense.

She was already prepared for the next act.

The creature’s massive arm pierced the shield and she slowed her time perception. The shield could only stop magic, that was fine.

She dropped it.

The arm missed her by a breath. Yellow talons brushed her armor but failed to pierce.

There was one thing about magic that Viv had understood. At its core, it was a question of will. Beyond experience and conduit and all those indexes of power, it was a question of changing reality without touching it. To will it to change.

The thing was going to kill her, Solfis, and Arthur. And so it had to die.

“Yoink.”

Viv’s voice was glacial behind the comical incantation. A bolt of pure void bit into the creature’s chest with voracious strength. Her might smashed into its conduit like a torrent, bursting through its massive metaphysical body like a tsunami through a beaver dam. She poured her defiance and her frustration until everything inside of the beast was hers, until it was all her. Until there was nothing else left.

Then, she pulled.

The torrential black mana that returned coursed through her. She lifted her right hand, willed a black flame to appear. The mana answered faithfully, as she knew it would. The magic danced for her, happy and… alive.

The monster crashed to the ground, slain in a moment.

She could get used to that shit.

Mana manipulation has reached intermediate 1

Acuity +1

Mana channels: nascent

Black Hedge Witch (5)

She felt it then, it all sort of clicked together. Some of the black mana stayed inside of her, more than usual. It smoothed more easily. She understood more and was understood in return.

“What is mana?”

//A magnificent result, Your Grace.

“Squee!”

“Oh, yeah sorry, getting carried away I guess.”

The congratulations died right there in awkwardness. Solfis was contemplating something. Arthur looked from the dead thing to Viv, then back to the dead thing with wide eyes. Viv felt mildly offended by the dragonette’s obvious incredulity. She was also wondering how the fuck they were going to get out with that lard in the path. She also hoped the sled was still intact.

//Your Grace, this unit wonders if you were a combatant in your previous life.

“I was. I was good too!” she exclaimed, somewhat defensively. It was not entirely true. She had barely passed the prerequisite for the special forces qualifications, but it had been hard and she had passed. So there.

//Your Grace, your battle instincts are commendable.

//This unit will work towards integrating your magic into them.

//It seems to be urgent.

“Right. Any idea what that was? Should I expect more?”

//This is a gut spiller.

//A specimen of good size.

//Although, they can be surprisingly silent when they move.

//Especially on sand.

//It must have come from the nearby village.

“Will this sort of thing happen again?

//This unit has too little available data to predict the distribution of the nearby undead population.

//This unit will only select remote locations from now on.

//This unit has a request.

“Do tell.”

//Can you collect the skull of the creature?

//Please.

Something finally clicked in Viv’s tired mind.

“Are you trying to have me build a bone frame for you?” Viv asked.

//Yes.

//And this unit believes that it has enough.

//Unfortunately, your intensive help would be required.

//Short-term survival will remain our priority.

“Understood. For now, tell me about mana.”

Solfis obliged for part of the evening before having her train more. He mentioned several hypotheses from great sages across the eras. They all had ideas, but the only thing they really agreed on was that Nyil was a little bit alive and that life permeated all of reality, making it malleable. That was reasonably cool. She did think that, if the world was alive, then it was a little bit of a dick, what with all the monsters around.

She went to sleep later and Arthur condescended to some evening petting, but only for five seconds because obviously killing a massive undead abomination with a single spell was still only a middling achievement and she would have to do better in the future.

Morning was dark because the thing still blocked the door. At least it no longer smelled. Viv sighed, retrieved its head and took out her shovel. It took her an hour to clear enough black ash to drag Solfis’ fat arse through. Then, they were gone.

On the third day, Viv walked faster. Every time she crested a small hill, she could see the edge of the forest, tantalizingly close. The deep, shiny green of life lured her with the promise of cover and, perhaps, humanity. The main problem was that the revenant density kept increasing. They covered the land and she had to slow down to a lazy walk to be able to kill them as she went. She saw fresh ones and old ones. Some were more damaged than others. Some still wore tattered rich coats or mail armor, or heavy cloaks designed for cold weather. Some only wore a loincloth and that was a sight she could have done without.

It was midday, and she was out in the open when she heard something that stupefied her: trotting horses.

Behind her in the distance, she spotted a trio of riders on things that definitely looked like heavy horses. They and the mounts wore mail and leather, as well as knight helms with closed visors. They also wielded strange polearms. The blade was a half-moon with the concave part facing outward. It looked like it was designed to keep things at bay.

The riders spotted her and made their way forth without stopping.

That was kind of hostile.

She inspected the lead figure.

[Baranese knight: dangerous]

That was a human for sure and she thought the chance was high that they would not attack if they could help it. She removed her hood and mask to expose her face and made large, waving signs.

“Quick, Solfis, what’s the universal sign for peace.”

//An open hand, Your Grace.

“Should I try to hide you?”

//No, Your Grace.

//They will see my frame and wonder what I am.

//Honesty is more valuable than secrecy here.

//Because secrecy cannot be achieved.

//I did not expect us to be intercepted like that.

“Ok. If they don’t stop, I’ll hide behind you and start blasting.”

//I hope it will not come to that, Your Grace.

//Look, they are slowing down.

Lieutenant Cernit’s perspective.

The fort patrol had been looking hard these past few days, and they had finally found something. It was not what they expected.

Fort Stone had fallen. They had seen the alarm signal in the distance, then the smoke afterward. They knew the deal. Fallen forts meant powerful undead or necromancers, and powerful undead did not set things on fire. They had to try and locate the rogue caster, if only so that they could light their own alarm before undead swarmed over the walls in the vain hope that someone, anyone, would come.

What they had found was a trail of dead revenants.

Now, revenants were a pain. They were slow and not so dangerous by themselves, but there were a lot of them on the dead plains and they liked to swarm. They were also notoriously hard to put down for good. The black mana that saturated the place helped them regenerate to their original mangled forms if they were not destroyed, and only fire or a priest could purify them. A trail of bodies, now that was something. Cernit had led them in pursuit. He half-expected to find a necromancer at the end of the trail, and perhaps even catch them with their pants down. For a moment, he thought he had when he spotted the strange carriage in the distance.

“It appears to be a corpse cart,” Benetti had commented, as aloof as always. Jor had said nothing.

“Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure. Good luck,” he had retorted.

He gave them one chance in three. That was the best they would get.

But then, something unexpected had happened. The person they had taken for a necromancer had removed their cloak and was now jumping up and down and waving in a slightly idiotic manner. They were not casting. The dead were not converging on them.

“Hold,” he said, and the others slowed down too.

Cernit forced a calm breath. He would have tried his damndest to slay a necromancer and give the foot soldiers back at the fort a chance. He was not particularly eager to meet his end, though.

The closer they got and the weirder things went. First, the not-a-necromancer was a beautiful young woman with close-cropped auburn hair and an ecstatic smile. Then, she was not wearing cursed robes but an eclectic mix of faded magical equipment like the last descendant of a ruined noble family. He came closer and realized the cart was, in fact, a makeshift sled holding large bones. When they stopped by her side, he found out that she had brilliant green eyes, something that was beyond rare in these parts, as well as the most advanced case of black mana poisoning he had ever seen. He could spot the shadowy veins snaking under her skin from his saddle. She should be screaming on the ground and halfway towards turning into a revenant herself by now.

By then, Cernit was completely at a loss. He inspected the strange apparition.

[Witch]

His instincts and [danger sense] skill flashed in alarm. She was not as strong as some of the war mages he had supported back when he had been at the front. She was still a caster. At least she was friendly. Weirdly so.

The only thing worse than a friendly caster was a pissed off one.

Then the woman started talking in an elegant, lilting voice. The words sounded like advanced military terms.

“Is... is that Old Imperial?” he asked Benetti.

“Yes. My classical education finally proves itself useful. Although I may be a tad rusty. Hold on, allow me to... is that... a golem part?!” the disgraced nobleman answered.

The next words came in a mechanical voice that sent shivers down his spine. He recognized every word from the day he was knighted at the royal palace. It had been an eternity ago.

//Bow and pay your respects to the Princess Bob, commoners.

The three riders froze in their seats. Benetti leaned towards him.

“That, lieutenant, is the weirdest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my entire damn life.”

A cover on the sled popped out and a serpentine head emerged.

“Squee!”

“How about now?” Cernit deadpanned.

The appearance of a tamed drake threw the group into a state of consternation. At least Cernit assumed it was tame.

“Chief?” Jor asked.

Both of the riders turned to him, as Jor speaking was a momentous event that occurred on average once every tenday.

“Is this the afterlife?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

And that was it. Cernit admitted that he found the strangeness of the situation disconcerting.

The golem and the woman spoke again and Benetti answered in broken Old Imperial. He promptly turned to his officer.

“The woman wants us to attach the thing she is dragging to a horse and go to our fort.”

“With her?”

“I would assume so, yes. And the golem is threatening us.”

“Hmm,” Cernit replied. Everyone knew how stupid refusing a caster was. The woman was a witch though, a wild one. He had to make sure.

“Can we ascertain that she is not...”

He realized that the word for necromancers was copied from Old Imperial. Like almost every technical term in his language.

“...one who orders the dead around,” he finished, lamely.

Just then the woman frowned and turned to a revenant that had ventured too close.

“Yoink.”

The thing fell dead.

“Is there such a thing as a decromancer?” he asked Benetti.

The disgraced gentleman stared.

“Uncromancer? Redeader?”

“I think you can stop talking, lieutenant. And she can call herself what she wants if she kills the things. Help me strap that thing to Bali.”

He climbed down from his horse and stepped closer to the witch, who was currently killing the few revenants ambling their way with calm detachment.

She was tall. Maybe even the size of Jor. And she was beautiful even if her cheeks were a bit hollow. She glared down imperiously.

“Err. Hello,” he greeted in Old Imperial.

“Viviane,” she said, and pointed at her chest.

She made weird sounds, like the buzz of fire wasps.

“Bibiane?”

The woman groaned and slapped her forehead. She pressed him on and he hurried to attach the sled in embarrassed silence. There were too many questions but one thing was sure, the woman was an unknown and, right now, any unknown was good. It would take a miracle to live to see spring.

“Yoink!”

The woman climbed behind Jor, who had the biggest horse. It appeared that he could, in fact, be nervous.

Cernit shook his head one last time and they made their way back at a sedate pace.

“Yoink.”

That was the most outlandish spell he’d ever heard.