//------------------------------// // Chapter 7: The Storm // Story: The Survival Of The Species // by Borderline Valley //------------------------------// Herbert Senthson It’s finally over. The endless exercises, the combat drills, the late nights and early mornings, the bruises, the insults, the daily dose of that vile liquid the Healers try to pass off as “medicine”… hell week is finally over. I am now part of the Guard. I can’t shake the feeling that hell week wasn’t enough. Bill finally judged us “good enough” but I don’t feel ready for this at all. The armor is finally starting to feel like it belongs on my skin, after wearing it for so long, I’d hope so, but whatever stealth I could claim as a hunter is ruined by these clanking slabs of metal. I have a new bow again. I had lovingly crafted my own bow before the world ended, but it was left behind. I had a civilian-issue one before now, which I had grown accustomed to as well. Yet now, ready in my hand, is a beast of a weapon. Powerful, yet limber, I have no clue how the Forges managed to construct this, but I’ve spent the last week growing used to it. I actually did so well that I wasn’t even issued a shield for this engagement; I’m one of the squad’s two designated archers. My skill with the bow is more than average, even I’ll admit, but am I ready for the chaos of combat? I do not believe I am. Compared to the Captain, or any of the old Guard, I’m as green as grass. Yet here I stand, waiting for the platoon leader to finish the inspection and armament so we can head out to my first battle. “Alright men, and I hesitate to call you that, it’s time pass out the axes. Make sure they’re secure on your harnesses, using both straps, and don’t even think about testing them on anything that isn’t an enemy. How many charges do you get?” “Only three, sir,” my entire squad chants in unison. “And when do we get to use the pretty axes?” “Only when ordered to, sir!” “Excellent. Present. Arms!” Four of my squad mates draw their large maces and present their shields for inspection. I spare a glance at them with a spark of envy. With the shield in front, and this new plate-style armor, not much would be injuring my four brothers-in-arms. To preserve the accuracy of our arrows, me and Melvin over here, not only weren’t issued shields, but our armor is thinner, lighter, and missing pieces near the joints. I’m not exactly complaining, but I would feel safer were I decked out in what almost resembles plate-armor. I’m not going to even think about where the forges are getting the raw-materials for all of this. The platoon leader continued to yell at us for a while… I’m not sure why, but I get the feeling he’s showing off for the Sergeant. It seems pointless to me… He’s not getting a promotion anytime soon unless one of the existing Sergeants buys the farm. The hierarchy was simple, and drilled into us for days on end; The Captain is on top, jump the cliff if he orders you to; the three Sergeants are under him, and they can take over your squad at a moment’s notice; the platoon leaders lead their squads directly, and make the decisions when you’re in a tight spot. Ten, six-soldier squads make up the rest of us, now that we’ve been trained. Simple. So why so much yelling? Oh, wait, he’s saying something important. “-o form ranks! Double-time it to the bridge, the Governor’s going to speak to us before we head out.” Great. More speeches. I maintained formation as we marched up the stairs, not daring to voice my opinion on the speeches our wonderful Governor gives. The pig. Perhaps I’m just bitter over how he’s sending us to our deaths with a smile and a wave, yet isn’t going to be in the engagement at all. Hell, even Mender is going out there with us, with an accompanying squad, of course, acting as our field medic. So, I barely listen as he drones on about duty, and justice and how proud he is of the sacrifice we’re making and on, and on, and on… well screw him, I’m doing this for revenge, and for the wolf-like abominations that need putting down. Finally, he’s done. I can see Rodin crouching over by the bridge, doing something to it with his daughter. I wonder what it is… “Move out!” comes the voice of our Captain, provoking an almost instinctual spark of movement in my limbs as our little army begins crossing the bridge. As my squad jumps up on the re-enforced wooden bridge, I notice a series of carvings pass beneath my feet. I suppress a shiver as my boots tread on them in passing. Runes. Who knows what they do… I’m just glad they’re on our side. Sophia Everblaze “But I want to help fight!” I whine. “Sophia Everblaze, NO. For the last time, you are far too young!” daddy isn’t giving in… He seems sort of mad. “But...” I think franticly, trying to find the words that will let me come with. Sadly, the words to not come to me. “I want to help…” I finish lamely. Daddy’s hard eyes soften a little. “You can help, by staying here. I can’t be thinking of your safety in the middle of the fight, and someone needs to stay here and guard the castle.” I pout; finally accepting, a little, that he isn’t going to yield. “How do I do that then?” He crouches next to me near the bridge and begins carving runes in it. I recognize a few of them, but most are ones he won’t let me learn yet. He is quiet for a long time, deep in thought as he works. “Ok, Sophi, see these? If trouble comes calling, fill these runes with magic and let Rune Calling do the rest, ok?” “Alright,” I say, reaching for the runes to see what they do. He grabs my wrist. “Sophi, I’m serious, don’t so much as touch them unless something tries to threaten the village.” I frown. Are the runes really that dangerous? “Okay,” I tell him, disappointed a little. “Move out!” I hear Sam yell, and daddy hustles me out of the way as all our soldiers cross the bridge. They look really cool, their armor all shiny and reflecting the sun. I watch as they disappear into the forest, the sounds they make dissipating slowly into silence. It’s not fair. I got to help all last week, enchanting axe, after axe… I had lost count of how many I did… and it got really tiring. Thanks to James I was able to keep going though. See, he gave me this really sweet-tasting medicine that made me feel like I had slept all day and all night, and just eaten a real big pile of sweets! I had plenty of magic to spare then! Daddy got to drink the medicine too, and was enchanting tons more than I could… I think he even did some armor as well as the arrows. We did tons of arrows. Daddy showed me how after I did my first ten axes in a row without messing up and making all that fire. James said that I don’t get to take the medicine anymore though… I don’t know why, I really liked it. It reminded me of sweets! I miss sweets. We can’t make them anymore, now that we’re here, and Daddy made me promise to stop summoning them once he caught me doing it. I wasn’t getting that many! *sigh* I look at the forest. As much as I had wanted to go and help, I really wasn’t looking forward to going in there. That place still scares me. I’ve seen guards come back out of it bleeding red all over the place! Another one came back a few weeks ago, turned to stone! Now we have two of the Guard-statues in the hospital. Mender said they’re still alive though. I didn’t understand his explanation, but I think Daddy did. I look at the forest warily, keenly aware that there are no more guards left to help me. I don’t want to be turned to stone. It doesn’t sound like much fun. I hear the sound of many feet behind me, coming from the gatehouse. It’s the cooks! “Hi there!” I call to them, and they respond with smiles on their faces. “Hey there Sophia, what are you doing out here?” I grin with pride, “I’m guarding the bridge! Daddy showed me how!” Now I can see more of the women coming from the gatehouse. Many of them have cooking knives, and a few even have short bows. I’m not sure what they’re doing with weapons. Oooh, do they secretly try archery too? Maybe they’ll teach me! I approach the head cook, pulling on the animal-skin dress we all wear nowadays. “Miss Fletcher, why do they have bows?” She smiles at me. “Well, the men are away, leaving only a 10-year-old mage to protect the camp! Can’t have that! We’re here to help you guard our home!” “Alright, ladies, lets form a perimeter. Eyes on the creepy forest; don’t want to be caught by it unawares, now do we?” The loud, take-charge voice belonged to Miss Weathers, and she seemed to hold her bow and quiver like she knew how to use them. I’ve never seen the women guard the camp before! This is awesome! Vern Leonard It took some getting used to, not being alone in my head. Sure, I was trained to be used to it, but it’s been such a long time since the Captain ordered these out that it was taking me a bit of time to reacquaint myself with it. Two by five squad sweep, keep each squad in sight of its brothers. Keep everyone on their toes. Yes sir. I reply. In the corners of my vision, series of runes inside my helmet light up as I exchange thoughts with the Captain. This helmet is so weird. They’re quite useful though, you can’t deny it. I swallow nervously. It’s too easy to accidentally trigger the thing. Indeed I cannot, sir. “Alright, squad leaders we’re doing a staggered sweep, I want a tight formation, but distance between the squads.” They scurry to take my relayed orders. “Keep your eyes peeled, and engage and call out any wolves you see. Neutralize any hostile wildlife. Priority is minimum casualties, you know the drill! Move out!” I can faintly hear my counterparts giving similar orders to their own squads. In short order we’re moving orderly through the forest, thorns scraping across metal plating, and bushes being trampled underfoot. It doesn’t take long before a shout is echoed by the sound of bowstrings and splintering wood. From my right-most squad. I shift my own closer to theirs, ready to lend aid, “Squad 4, report!” “Threat neutralized!” comes the reply through the trees, “No casualties, three wolves down.” I quickly send the report through the helmet, and receive a reply. Good. Derik’s squad took down a few as well. Maintain the march. Yes sir. I watch my men with an approving eye as we make our way through this horrible forest. My squad is rather standard, with four decked out for melee combat and two of them wielding bows and loaded with both enchanted and un-enchanted arrows. It’s not a lot, but a dozen feet to the right and a few paces behind us is another of my squads. My last is not much farther, but the foliage is so thick… I can’t even spot them. Our long, northwestern march is not punctuated with ambushes like we had expected. Instead we’re treated to the sound of distant howls. The wolves know we’re here, it’s only a matter of time before they strike us. For a time, the howls ceased. Then they crashed upon us. One of my archers saw them first, and shouted his sighting even as he drew and loosed a rather ineffectual arrow. I could practically read his thoughts as his fingers brushed the enchanted stock before grabbing normal one. Good. This one remembers and obeys orders. I thought Bill had done a good job with these ones, but now they got to be put to the test. From the trees sprint half a dozen wooden monstrosities that lunged at my line of iron. They took the charge on their shields and repaid them with swings of their maces. Wood splintered under the metal, and green eyes flickered out as the monster’s magic failed. I don’t understand why it works, but crushing what passes for their ribs with something heavy seems to kill them rather quickly. I don’t need to understand it to use it though. I join the melee, swinging my own mace to crush the head of a wolf that had tried to flank us. Requesting permission to use fire arrows! I ask the Captain, blocking a swipe of wooden claws with my shield as I do so. I can hear the screech of metal and shouts of pain and anger, signaling that the other squads engaged with their own problems. One of my archers is engaged in melee. I use my shield to knock my wolf’s teeth loose, and disengage, opting to kill the one assaulting my more fragile allies instead. A few more moments of intense fighting, and our opponents lie broken, their bodies so much scattered wood and spent magic. Most of my squad sports only bruises and a few scrapes, though my archer bleeds from his side, it is not deep. One bandage later and he seems fine. My other squads report numerous slight injuries, and one broken leg. We’re alive and well, only one major injury. Sending him to Mender now. Mender has been alerted. I send my injured archer to collect the man with the broken leg and take him to the Captain’s squads. That is where he should find the Healer, at the most heavily guarded part of the formation. As our march continues onwards, I realize I have yet to receive an answer from the captain… Sir? Flame arrows? One long moment later, he replies. No. We wait. Vern, I want Squad 4 to join the center and guard Mender as he works. Tighten the spread as well, I want squads to be close enough to rush to each other’s aid. I want you on our flank, keep an eye peeled in that direction. I’m in the middle of rearranging the squads when we are struck from behind. From the forest behind us, arrives two monstrosities almost as tall as the trees. Their forearms are nearly thick enough to be trees, at least. Hell, I’m pretty sure it’s wearing young pine-trees as armor. It’s an utterly massive version of what we’ve been fighting so far, and it wants our blood. My squads react near-instantly, coming about to present a solid wall of metal and flesh between the monsters and the archers. It’s the wrong idea. “SCATTER!” My soldiers obey, ducking behind trees and putting distance between each other. If they’ve remembered their training, they’ll be keeping an eye on each other’s positions and start hounding the things with timed strikes from multiple directions. It’s too late for some of them. Already two of the guards I was standing next to lie broken, pounced upon by a creature that likely weighs more than our whole squad put together. Our armor is… not strong enough to hold under that kind of pressure. It isn’t pretty. I flee from the sight, ducking behind a tree before their burning eyes fixate on me. My only idea for hurting them is using fire; anything else would be mere pinpricks. The tree I was hiding behind breaks nearly in half as a missed swipe lands on it. Damn. These things hit like golems! I abandon my shelter, and take the three steps necessary to swing my mace, denting the wood on one of its legs, but no more. Quickly, I do my best to put some distance between me and them, before finding another hiding spot. A glance and a roar of frustration tells me my soldiers are doing something similar. It’s legs are now home to… what amounts to pinpricks. At least, they’re being kept busy. Where the hell are my archers? They haven’t used fire arrows yet? Damn. At least they follow orders. permission to use fire arrows sir! … Nothing. I am about to voice my opinion on his silence when his silence suddenly makes sense. A stream of fire lances out from somewhere between the trees, catching the monstrous wolf square in the side. I swear the thing had a surprised expression when the fire burst out the other side and washed over the second monster. In short order the two beasts were nothing but piles of char amid the destruction. The origin of our good fortune steps out from the shadows of the trees. “Well that felt satisfying.” I’ve never liked Rodin as much as this moment. My mouth is open to emit words of thanks, Permission to use fire arrows granted. No sooner do I relay the order, than do I turn to behold Rodin, arms spread, facing the forest we’ve been trudging through for hours. He gestures with his staff, and sets the forest on fire. Rodin is providing environmental cover in the form of a forest fire. He says the fire will be incapable of burning us, but will still suck the air from your lungs. Tell the men not to venture too close if they can help it. I know I should be gathering up my squad, but for a few moments, I can’t help but stand and watch as the fire spreads from tree to tree, blocking our route home… as well as reducing the possibility of further attacks from behind. I’m glad he’s on our side… Me too. Samuel Weathers The first true casualties finally rolled in with those giant-sized wolves. Nine dead. The southernmost squad was completely eradicated; caught by surprise. I think Rodin took a perverse sort of pleasure in obliterating those two first. We will honor the dead later. For now, I focus upon my Sergeants, delivering further instructions. My map says there’s a clearing just north of us. March there and secure the perimeter. *Yes sir.* *Yes sir.* *Yes sir.* Like lightning, their responses flash back nearly instantaneously. It is good to have competent men under you, but ones that can take orders work just as well. Not that my sergeants aren’t competent. In the distance we all can hear the howling. It sounds different this time… more… bloodthirsty. The clearing is arrived at in short order, and James finally has both the time and the light to work with. My sergeants are partitioning out the supplies of water and food we brought. There is no telling when we would have another peaceful moment in these woods, so we’re taking advantage of it while we can. James has a small cart, being drawn by a couple of volunteers from the village. So far we had been able to protect them, and that was paying off now. A hog-tied Deer was brought before him, and James got to work. I never get tired of watching him heal my men. Wounds close, bones set, and limbs even re-grow themselves. We've been capturing more animals, thanks to a trap one of the Guards had designed. We've been able to capture more than enough animals, and have been keeping the excess healthy, all in preparation for this sudden need. Mender makes short work of our injured, and those with less pressing wounds cycle in from the perimeter for healing. The process brightens my day. Rodin’s fire enveloped half of the trees surrounding the clearing and stopped. I’m not sure how he controls it, but it doesn't seem to be straining him. Of course, he’s also been sipping one of Mender’s foul brews for a while now. I’m almost tempted to question him, but he knows his own limits. If he does run out of juice at a critical moment however, I’ll kill him myself. For real this time. For about a second, we’re standing in this clearing with nothing left to do. “That’s it men, pack up, we’re moving again.” I don’t have to use the helmet, everyone’s within shouting distance anyway. “Keep a tight formation. I want a three sides of a square formation, archers in the center. Flame arrows only, pick your shots. Rodin, keep the forest fire guarding our rear.” Really, that was the most bizarre thing about all of this. Not the wooden wolves, nor the strange forest making us unsure of ourselves even now, it was the raging forest fire hanging back, like a loyal puppy, following Rodin’s every whim. We continued on our heading, north by northwest. By all accounts, the wolves have kept our patrols from going in this particular direction for weeks now. It was actually Governor Birchwood who picked out the pattern in my charts and schedules; yet another reason I respect the man. If they were willing to fight to keep us away from here, that’s good evidence that our target lies in that direction. I expected heavy resistance, and we got it. So far we've encountered more wolves in one wave than we've ever seen in one place, 53 if the reports are accurate, and encountered a new type of wolf as well. It would seem Rodin was right about our opponent having cards up his sleeve. It makes me glad we've been keeping our own aces hidden, so to speak. The howling is getting closer, and as our formation of men makes its slow progress through the undergrowth, I hear shouts from the men, spotting targets in the trees. I hear the sound of combat, and a Derik’s thoughts come through my helmet. A dozen wolves engaged. Uhh, they’re different. These ones are blue. And they’re smaller than normal. Dammit! They’re quick! Rodin walks next to me, he is doing his best to peer through both tree and man alike to see what is happening. “Rodin, there’s a third kind now. Small and quick, Derik says they’re blue. Thoughts?” He keeps trying to see, his eyes now emitting that red glow. “I’d say our friend has adapted to us. Changed his mold, so to speak. I’d wager a lot that the tactics of the new ones are better suited to fight us now, but I’d have to see them in action to be sure.” The sounds of combat die, and a wave of cursing can be heard in the ensuing quiet. Derik, report. All enemies dead, most to flame arrows. They work as a team now, one pulling a shield or an arm out of the way while others strike for the vitals. I've got lots of small wounds and one critical. I frown. This is really bad news. In these close quarters they need only send endless waves of these at us, and we’ll be slowly whittled away to nothing. Send the critical one back and cycle the injured squads for fresh ones. Thankfully we have enough men to give those a mite of rest. I don’t even want to think about what a disaster this would have been if we had attacked without Rodin or these extra bodies. Or Mender. Hey, the foliage is getting sparser. As we march, the forest seems to alter in composition, and all the bushes and weeds that have been choking our progress and our line of sight grow rarer and rarer to see. The trees grow bigger, thicker, and taller. Here, the sun is more completely blocked from the forest floor here. With a literal forest fire at our backs though, we have more than enough light. It's getting rockier too. Stones litter our steps, but it’s not that much of a hazard. What is important is that we, and therefore our archers, can see farther. The ground we traverse is growing noticeably more varied in elevation. This is becoming more hill-country than forest, yet the canopy high, high above still casts deep shadows, and that fear is still worming its way into our heads. In the shadows beyond, even I, at the center of our force, can see the blue eyes watching from the far off trees. In fact, reports start to come in. Derik, Vern and Bill all thinking at me at once, giving rough estimates and counts of the number of wolves present. At our back is a wall of flame we can’t feel, but is drawing a strong breeze of air, letting us know it is far more than an illusion. At our front and sides there is an army of blue eyes, each belonging to a wooden monstrosity. Holy crap there’s a ton of them. Tell them to break out the axes. I turn to Rodin. “Hey Rodin.” He looks at me, nervous energy and sadistic anticipation easily seen in his eyes. “I’m setting you loose. Go kill all the wolves.” He only smiles. Rodin Everblaze I exit the formation of guards, their faces showing confusion and fear both of me and for me as I get a little separated from them. I know that some of them think of me as a loose cannon. It’s not an image I discourage. I enjoy my freedom. I take out my waterskin, weighing it thoughtfully. It was still mostly full. Not of water, actually, but of one of James’s miraculous, yet foul brews. It was my second one today, but it was going to have to be my last. I lean on my staff as I open the skin and start chugging its contents. My gag-reflex is triggered, but I choke the vile drought down. One of the many, many things I learned from mine and his time unconscious together was this brew. I forgot what goes in it, but the effect is just short of too good to be true. As the liquid pools in my stomach, I can feel my body getting simply charged with magic. Perhaps drinking the whole thing wasn't a good idea… Oh well. I picture my favorite combination of runes in my head, and pour magic into them. As they vanish, I open my eyes to behold the effect. Starting from my feet, and working its way up, I catch fire. In no time at all, little can be seen of my fireproof war-robe for the sheer volume of blue flames that envelop me. The waterskin is incinerated in less time than it takes to breathe. I don’t feel the fire. Actually, I note the sudden absence of the chilling wind that’s been bothering me for a while. I love doing this. I approach the wolves at a jog; my staff held in a battle ready stance, it’s engulfed in my fire as well. As I get close, I can see them, these wolves are indeed smaller, but they also are better armored. There exists no gap in the flexible wood for an arrow to pierce the innards, and if the sheen of the wood is any indication, there’s some sort of protective magic at work as well. The eyes are interesting. The wolves I've seen before have sockets with burning green coals inside them. Even the monster sized ones were like this. These though, these are almost like lanterns, the socket replaced with wood that glows a bright blue. Still. Differences aside, these wolves burn just as nicely as the others. I blaze, a beacon of fire in the forest. I sweep my arm, and my flames erupt from it to engulf scores of the creatures. Those that get too close to me combust from the heat I emit, so I charge head long into groups of them as I lob fireballs. My laughter echoes above the roar of fire. I lose track of time, Burn wolves, burn! When I find myself again, I look immediately for my allies. There, far off, still beating back the horde of blues. They’re showing them a curved front, my forest fire now guarding most of their flanks as well as their back. I can feel myself approaching my limit, but I’m not there yet. Still quite a bit of fight left in me. As I jog back towards my allies, I look around me. Piles of ash mark the graves of these cursed constructs. I think I helped, but I’m not sure it was enough. Calling a series of runes to mind, beams of carefully controlled fire surgically lance from my outstretched staff to disintegrate the three dozen or so wolves between me and my allies. I've bought them little more than moments, but they use it well, readying their weapons and their wills for another push forward. The piles of ash that surround them put mine to shame. At least the axes worked well. I eye the rest of their equipment. Shields are rent, most are bleeding from several wounds, all are having trouble breathing. I think they’ll be glad to get away from my air-sucking forest fire behind them. Actually, I think it’s starting to run out of fuel, burning nothing but the same area for so long as it has been. Do we still need it? I could probably- *ROOOAAR!!* Something either very large, very loud, or both lets out a very angry noise. The wolves retreat, regrouping for what is obviously a charge with this new behemoth. I’m not giving them the chance. I head straight for the noise, the wolves I pass by igniting from the heat I emit. I’m really going to miss doing this. I barely reach the horde before I spot the behemoth. A single, massive, blazing eye of orange fire dominates the head. Four limbs the thickness of elephants support a gargantuan body. Like the wolves, it appears to be made of wood, but with this one, living, writhing, strangely alive vines also make up its body. I take a look at it with my rune-altered sight, hoping to glean some sort of weakness in the thing. What I see stops me in my tracks. Instead of the nature magic-analogue I expected, I see something foreign and bizarre. No less than five different kinds of magic shine from its body, and most of them don’t seem familiar in the least. I do recognize the nature magic, lashing out in tendrils to form more blue wolves each second. My two eyes glance at its one, and I recognize the shard of divinity placed there. I guess some things are universal. “An Immortal.” I whisper. This is bad. This is very bad! “Tremble and despair! I come to kill you myself, foul intruders!” Wait just a moment... I understand it... if it's the same as Sophia with that horse, than it should understand ME! Trusting this jump of logic to be true, because, really, if it’s not I might as well jump under its massive foot and call it a nice life, my plan crystallizes in my mind. I behold my staff. My constant companion. The fire-crystal set in its top has acted both as the focus for many of my spells, and as the main component of this crazy, insane plan, that I have always and never prepared for. With a command word, my crystal shatters into six parts, the energy stored within, equally distributed among them. Only one shard still remains bound to the staff. The other five, I gather into my hand, and, two spells later, throw them speeding back towards my allies, embedding them into the shield of my Captain friend. He’ll love this. I then sprint for the Immortal, casting a spell to enhance my voice as I do so. The monster is less than 200 feet away from me when I start shouting at it. “Truce! Truce and Parley! Humanity wishes to sue for peace!” It ceases its charge, surprise clearly evident on its alien features as it beholds the tiny ant in front of it. As I watch, the wolves stop circling, due to some unseen command, and turn the legion that is their eyes towards me as well. I am reaching my limit, maintaining too many spells at once. I cut the power feeding my flames, and the forest fire dies, winking out of existence. There would be silence, if not for the creaking and writhing behemoth standing a mere dozen yards from me, eyeing me. A voice comes from its throat, laden, not with rage as before, but oddly enough, curiosity. “You really are a strange race, now that I see you myself. Speak. And I will decide whether it is worth the effort to crush you like the insects you are.”