IrateRapScallion
patreon
Chapter 32
🕑 Added 2018-06-06 03:38:42 +0000 UTC Akhustal Palebane swung her massive war club around in a wide arc, the giant weapon, carved over years from a piece of Ruresni herself and stronger than the hardest stone, hurtling towards the nearest Drayhadan at tremendous speed. The Drayhadan, likely the strongest fighter on that area of the wall, threw up his shield in a desperate attempt to ward off her blow, but to no avail. The massive woman Observed the club’s weight from light to heavy just before impact. Now weighing over fifty times its already considerable normal weight, the blood-covered bat crumpled the doomed man’s shield as if it were made of paper and slammed into his torso with devastating force. The soldier’s half-pulped body flew down the rampart, crashing into the other Drayhadans behind him and knocking them over. Her countrymen pounced upon them.The Chos laughed heartily at the carnage she wrought with each swing of her absurd weapon. This was what she lived for, what she craved every day as she took petitions and managed patrols and did all the rest of that governing crap that came with being Chos. This strife, this struggle, where you put everything you had on the line to survive. Her heart pounded in her chest as she danced through the carnage, each thunderous beat echoing in her head - “you are alive”.
Fireballs and arrows rained down towards her, as they always did, and she avoided some and blocked the rest with her massive weapon like she always did,. Whenever she showed her face in battle, the Drayhadans naturally focused as much of their power on her as they could. Part of the attention came from the fact that she was the leader of Stragma, but she knew that there was a greater reason. They feared her. They were right to fear her. She was the tip of the spear driving straight towards Astryae, the heart of the hated Astr clan. She was the embodiment of her country’s wrath, and she would not be denied.
More and more of her people swarmed up onto the battlements, their numbers too great for the undermanned defenders. Akhustal smiled. Her gambit had worked. The elves just didn’t have the troops needed to hold Astronta Keep. Her invasion was sure to go down in history as the turning point in Stragman history.
For generations, the nations of Stragma and Drayhadal had engaged in what could best be described as ‘seasonal warfare’. Stragma’s cyclical migration cycle meant that the two populations were only close enough for large, sustained battle for one quarter of every year, when the Stragmans moved to Pholis at the start of Autumn. While Stragma did not attack Drayhadal every year, when they did it was always during this window of time.
Such predictability was Drayhadal’s greatest advantage, in that it allowed them to plan and muster up the most of their limited resources before the Stragmans invaded. Unlike Stragma, Drayhadal lacked manpower. While the elves lived for hundreds of years, they also reproduced at a rate many times slower than any other race. Combined with how their society sequestered women away from danger, only by rounding up every male on hand, be they farmers, tailor, bakers, or merchants, could they field enough troops to counter Stragma’s armies. Logistics on that scale took a long time, and only the clockwork nature of Stragma’s window of opportunity allowed them to fully prepare each year.
The hurried evacuation of Krose had cost Stragma dearly. Each seasonal city had its role in their society, and Krose’s was industry. The more-open area was better suited for industrial operations than the other cities, and the supply of ore from the ronutepo tunnels allowed them to replenish their weapons and armor. For the next cycle, life in the forest would be much more difficult for everybody as they struggled to make do without much of their usual supplies.
But there was one single benefit to this unexpected turn — they were in position to attack their hated enemy early. Akhustal had bet heavily on the idea that the Drayhadans would not be ready for an invasion almost a season before the normal time, and she’d been right. The ramparts of Astronta Keep would normally have been lined with defenders, but today only perhaps a third of their normal force could be seen manning the walls. Astronta Keep would fall today, the first day of battle.
Until now, each invasion of the Astr clan’s territory followed the same pattern. The Stragmans would cross into Drayhadal, weaving around and between the many massive blazes burning furiously across the nearby edge of the forest, and assault Astronta Keep. Specifically built to be the first line of defense against the ‘forest savages’, Astronta Keep was the single most fortified place in the Astr clan’s dominion outside of the city of Astryae itself. Eventually the keep would fall, and the Stragmans would push onward to do as much damage as they could before their time ran out and they had to retreat back to Pholis and prepare for the next migration. In a way, Astronta Keep did not need to stop the Stragmans; it merely had to slow them down long enough that they wouldn’t have the time to do much significant damage before they had to leave.
This time would be different. Astronta Keep had no hope of containing the Stragman horde with its current garrison. With the time gained by the quick capture of the fortress, plus the extra time afforded by their early invasion, Palebane had enough days left to accomplish something that every Stragman dreamed of doing. She would raze Astryae to the ground and slaughter their ruling clan down to the last man.
A blazing heat from her left triggered her battle instincts and she rolled behind a nearby merlon just as a ball of flame wider than she was tall exploded where she’d been standing just a moment ago. A blast of searing heat washed over her, singeing her skin. The ground where she’d stood just before glowed red, visible even in the daylight. Speaking of those Astr bastards, an attack of that magnitude could only come from an elder of the Astr clan itself. She’d finally drawn the fort’s commander into the fray. Everything was going according to plan.
Akhustal peeked out from behind the stone wall, tracing the path of the fireball to its source. Fifty paces down the wall, in front of one of the many small towers that rose up from the wall, stood an elderly elf, surrounded by six younger elves, all in exquisite shining metal armor. The commander looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties, but she knew that meant he was over three hundred years old. He glared at her with disdain and loathing as four of his bodyguards charged towards her, swords drawn, while the other two hefted large metal shields by his sides, ready to intercept incoming attacks.
“Savage barbarians!” he shrieked. “Drayhadal will never yield to you!” He focused on a point in front of him and a ball of fire formed, growing steadily in size and heat.
Akhustal put two fingers into her mouth and blew, letting out a shrill whistle just before the new fireball collided against the stone merlon in front of her. Then, taking a step away, she brought her club back and swung it with all her might at the merlon. The club blurred as it arced towards the stone. The merlon exploded into several pieces, each at least a pace wide, and most of them sailing towards the commander and his two guards. Quickly she increased their weight as they arced through the air. The two shield-bearers jumped in front of the commander, their shields up and ready to intercept the incoming rocks. But these were no longer merely rocks. They crashed into the guards’ shields with the weight of boulders, buckling them and slamming the two guards backwards, knocking them and their commander into the wall at their backs with great force. The three of them collapsed to the ground.
The Chos laughed at the scene as she hefted her war club and strode towards the four approaching soldiers. It was hilarious how often people seemed to think that she was just an exceptionally powerful Feeler. For reasons like the preceding events, she liked to keep it that way. People never seemed to see it coming. Well, not never. A few had figured it out. The first had been her husband, Caprakan Bloodflower-hono, back when they had both been Blou fresh out of the advanced exams. He’d realized it after only a single spar, though he’d intentionally pretended not to until he could surprise her in the middle of the second spar. It was that combination of intelligence and slyness that had caught her interest then, and they’d become a couple just a few seasons later.
The latest to realize her secret had been Jaquet Delon’s companion, Arlette Demirt. At first, Akhustal had disapproved of her childhood hero’s entourage. They’d seemed weak and helpless, especially that young woman Sofa. But outside of Sofa, time had proved her initial impressions incorrect. Demirt’s ability to Observe while simultaneously engaging in melee combat struck her as incredibly impressive and versatile. She’d never before heard of any Observer capable of maintaining an Observation while doing anything more than walking or running. She’d heard good things about the fire Observer as well, and then there was the beastkin girl. According to her husband, she was some sort of genius alchemist, capable of creating powerful explosions through unknown means, but also somehow completely untrained in her body control. The child’s tail and ears broadcast every emotion to anybody watching as they twitched, waved, and wagged. Such shameful behaviors, known among beastkin as being ‘open’, were normally corrected by a parent before the end of a beastkin’s fourth year. To still be open at her age... it was a wonder the girl wasn’t constantly mortified about it. Beastkin in general would rather walk around naked than be open in public.
Such actions would normally have jumped out at her, but Akhustal had been a little too distracted at the time to notice. After all, it wasn’t often that one got to meet their heroes. She still couldn’t believe that just a few days ago she’d gotten the opportunity to fight The Titan of Twin Rock Pass. It still didn’t seem real.
Years ago, back before she was the Chos, back even before she’d taken the Tests of Strength and Courage, Akhustal Palebane had been very much alone. Even in a culture that revered strength she’d been too strong, her feats in hunting and monster extermination so absurd that all the other children avoided her. Then one day, talking to a newly arrived bounty while cleaning her family’s tavern, she’d heard tales of a mercenary, a butcher on the battlefield so strong that it isolated him, and she had connected. From that day forth, as the years went by, she would always take time to hunt down anybody running to Stragma to escape a bounty and question them for new stories of the man who’d understood her pain without ever knowing her. She’d delighted in each new tale, from the Battle of Barstook to her favorite, the tale of Twin Rock Pass, where Jaquet had held back over thirty men by himself long enough for his injured band to escape.
Akhustal had never thought she’d ever get the chance to meet this role model of hers until the bounty had appeared. Others had thought it insane but she’d believed it. Only somebody as strong as Jaquet the Quick could wipe out an entire city without an army. And to think that he’d actually made it to her before the invasion! She could sleep easy knowing that both Jaquet and her husband were up north, guiding the Second Army. In fact, his arrival had been a blessing twice over, as it had also helped her forget about- No. Now was not the time to think about that man.
With a few quick swipes, the Chos knocked the first two charging soldiers from the wall with ease. She didn’t like to say that Observers gave her more trouble than Feelers, because that implied that Observers gave her trouble; they didn’t, they were just a bit more annoying. But it was true that she’d only met several Feelers in her entire life that she even had to work to beat. Her club lashed out like a snake, crumpling in the elf’s torso as he flew over the side, then back towards the fourth and final man, who successfully ducked beneath her strike and rushed for her. With a yawn, she brought her club back over the man and just dropped it, once again raising its weight to an absurd degree. The giant log crushed the soldier just before his blade could reach her, his armor doing nothing to keep his bones from being pulverized under the massive burden. This was too easy.
“There’s nowhere to run now, wretched woman! This will be your end!” Akhustal looked over to find the elven commander back on his feet, a massive fireball charging up before him. “I will burn you to cinders and take my rightful place as-mmmph!”
The incomplete fireball, still a good four paces wide, shot wildly into the air as dozens of massive thorny vines as thick as her arm wrapped around the elf’s head and neck and yanked him into the air. The old elf thrashed about violently as the vines slowly squeezed the life out of him. Akhustal followed the writhing vines up to find them all emerging from the arms of a man standing atop the tower — General Ikal Fernfeather-hono her second in command.
“You’re late,” she said with annoyance.
“You said you’d whistle when he showed himself,” he replied.
“I did!”
“Well, do it louder next time.”
“Ugh. You’re deaf, you know that?” She hefted her club up onto her shoulder. “Bring the elf. It’s time we sent them running.”
* * *
“To Stragma! To victory!”
A chorus of cheers erupted from the assembled Hono as Akhustal Palebane raised a large cask of mead over her head. The best part of conquest was raiding the enemy’s liquor supply. Everybody gathered around and took their fill before sitting down around a large table for the war council.
“Hey, save some for Stormstrider-hono and Skyrunner-hono,” she said as several generals got up for refills. “They should be back from hunting the runners fairly soon. Tepin!”
“Yes, Chos?” said a voice off to her side. Tepin Silverfall had toiled by her side for more than a decade now, but it still amazed Akhustal just how little presence the woman possessed. Small and meek, she seemed to almost blend in with the room when surrounded by so many strong, boisterous individuals, like a grennig amidst a korlach stampede.
“I’m in a grand mood right now, so to celebrate our victory you may also have a drink.”
The small woman coughed. “You honor me, Chos, but I am afraid that I cannot handle-” She coughed again. “-something so strong.”
Akhustal frowned. Yes, of course. She’d been too caught-up in her success and forgotten her assistant’s condition. Tepin Silverfall was an indispensable asset to the Chos. She took notes, wrote written notices and communications, set up meetings, organized patrols and supply movements, and more. Tepin did the boring, the menial, and the time-intensive tasks that would otherwise bog Akhustal down so much that she’d never get to do anything. Somebody with her skills could go incredibly far in this world, which was why Akhustal thought it such a shame that Tepin was a Shell.
Most Shells were those that failed the Test of Courage, the cowards and the inept. Those that failed the Test of Strength like Tepin, however, were rare, because parents usually killed sickly babies rather than live with the shame of producing a guaranteed Shell. Tepin’s parents were one of the few couples who decided to raise their child anyway, and she had grown up weak and feeble her whole life, always knowing that she would be a Shell when she came of age no matter how hard she tried.
Akhustal felt bad for the other woman, knowing that she deserved better, but Stragma’s laws and traditions were clear. Akhustal believed in following those laws and traditions. Their way of life kept them strong, kept them alive in the harsh forest. Ruresni loved them, yes, but she would not pamper them. She demanded that the people of the forest earn their lives through struggle. To succeed through struggle was to be strong. That was what it meant to be Stragman.
Still, as far as the Chos was concerned, a feeble woman like Tepin who strove to get everything she could out of her meager strength, was a million times better than somebody with power but without the courage to use it. Somebody like- No! She gritted her teeth as memories of the last Trial of Courage flashed into her mind against her will. That bastard... days later she could still clearly see the judgment in his eyes as he declared that he would never harm a person. She could see his pity, as if he felt sorry for her! Him, a coward without the conviction to do what needed to be done, feel sorry for her, the mightiest warrior in the nation? How dare he! And for that man to be so strong, so full of potential, only to throw it all away. Argh! It made her blood boil even now! She grunted and released a long breath. It wouldn’t do for her to lose control now. Now was a time for celebration and planning. Yes, she needed to start the war council, get her mind off of that fool...
“Let’s begin!” the Chos declared, slamming a fist down on the table. The assembled Hono quieted down. “So far, I believe our plan to be working about as well as could be. Fernfeather-hono believes that we were first discovered about seven days ago. That should have given the long-ears just enough time to organize troops but not long enough to get them here before we arrived. Given how quickly we took their stronghold, I think that our original goal of Astryae is very achievable. We will need to meet the incoming reinforcements on the way so they cannot hit us from behind when we arrive at their city, so we’ll need three divisions scouting...”
The war council continued as she and the generals plotted their next moves. About an hour later, somebody knocked on the door and Tepin moved to answer it, peeking her head out as she was wont to do and writing something down before closing the door again.
“What is it, Tepin?” Akhustal asked.
“The final casualty count is in, Chos,” the Shell replied. “Thirty-two thousand dead, ten thousand too injured to fight.”
Akhustal fought back a wince. There was no denying it, she’d traded lives for time, but still that number was far, far higher than she’d hoped it would be. The Drayhadans were the best in the world at defensive warfare, so between their fortifications and the fifty thousand troops they’d had holding it, high casualty numbers were to be expected, but...
“Have the the Shells bring their bodies home. We’ll have to send one division back to ensure their safety.”
“Chos, are you sure?” asked General Fernfeather-hono. “With everything we are planning for the next phase, now would be a bad time to lose ten thousand more soldiers.”
Akhustal glared at her second in command. “Their bodies must return to the forest. Such is tradition.” Fernfeather-hono just reluctantly nodded. Her tone held no room for debate on this matter.
The council resumed, this time discussing whether or not to send a full division back, or to take some troops from each division so as not to rob one unlucky group from the upcoming glory. Suddenly somebody insistently pounded on the door. Tepin once again answered, and Akhustal saw her stiffen as she listened to the words of whoever was on the other side. The Shell glanced back at the Chos for a moment before continuing her conversation, and then closed the door.
“What is it this time?” General Fernfeather-hono demanded, his temper beginning to rise.
The Shell coughed and swallowed. “The Many from the Second Army has called.”
“Oh! Is my husband reporting in early?” Akhustal asked.
Tepin frowned. “The caller is not General Bloodflower-hono. It is... someone else.”
* * *
“Akhustal Palebane! How’s my favorite savage doing? Did you miss me?”
Akhustal stared in horror at the woman in the projection, trying her best to hold back her emotions. It was important that she not show weakness in front of others. Especially her, Pyria Esmae. The elf smiled nonchalantly back at her through the Many’s transmission as if this were nothing more than a normal friendly conversation, the two of them chatting about their days and their husbands and the like. But it wasn’t normal. Her eyes were drawn to the familiar figure lying in the elf’s lap, the orange-brown hair curls a dead giveaway. Caprakan! Looking closely, she could see that her husband still breathed, but he seemed completely unconscious.
“What have you done to him!?” she cried.
Pyria merely giggled and pulled out a small, shiny golden knife, twirling it about between the delicate fingers of her right hand.
“Don’t you touch him!” Akhustal cried. “You put him down right-”
“Oh, you’re in no position to tell me to do anything,” Pyria interrupted, her eyes glinting, ominous and deadly. She brought the knife down slowly, closer and closer to Caprakan’s exposed throat. “You see, I have your husband. But I have more than just him. I have your army. All thirty thousand of them. They’re alive, for now. And they’ll stay that way, as long as you do everything. I. Say.” The knife’s point now rested against her love’s neck, its edge glistening with malice.
Back before she had power and status, Caprakan had been the only person to reach out to her, to break through the bubble of fear that isolated her from others. He was her lifeline, the one person she’d gladly give up her life to save, and now he was just one quick movement from death. The sight of him helpless before her hated enemy chilled her to her core. Pyria liked to play coy, but the elf woman was never one to make idle threats. Akhustal had no option other than to obey. If she didn’t, Pyria would kill Caprakan and the rest of the Second Army while Akhustal watched, and she’d do it with a smile of satisfaction.
“What... do you need me to do?” Akhustal rasped, her throat dry with defeat. She felt like she was going to be sick.
“Let’s start with you turning your adorable little army around and running back home.”
“And then you’ll let him go?”
The elf laugh mirthfully. “Oh no, of course not! We’re going to have so much fun, you and I. I’ll contact you again the next time I have a task for you. Until then, don’t do anything stupid or he’ll be the first to go.” Her smile widened. “It was so good to see your face again, my dear. Have a good trip back home!” She laughed again and the transmission cut off.
Akhustal fell to her knees as reality came rushing back. Disaster. Everything had been going so wonderfully, and then... it was all gone. Her victory, her chance at greatness, her family... all stolen by that horrid woman. Pyria had her husband at her mercy. What choice did she have?
Exiting the Many’s chamber, she found her generals standing outside, their faces lit up with anticipation. She frowned. “Tomorrow we return to Stragma at first light.” The generals all looked at her and each other, not sure they’d heard correctly. “Spread the word. No more celebrations tonight.”
“What?” Fernfeather-hono stuttered in disbelief. “After all the progress and the planning, you now want to-”
“YOU DO NOT GET TO QUESTION ME!” she roared, slamming her club into a nearby wall. “NOW GO!”
The generals quickly left to carry out her orders. With nobody left but Tepin, Akhustal made her way to the commander’s chambers, her head pounding with rage. The room was filled with exquisite decor, from fancy cabinets to a large, detailed bed carved from the long leg bones of a plaxis. Letting out a primal scream, Akhustal brought her club down upon a small table near the door, rendering the furniture into nothing but splinters with a single blow.
“That fucking long-eared bitch!” she cried as she reduced a cabinet to mulch. “I’ll kill her! I’ll fucking rip her guts out with my bare hands!”
Minutes later, a panting Akhustal stood surrounded by the remains of all the furniture that had once stood proudly in the chamber, her rage unquenched. She’d never felt this helpless before. She’d never felt so... weak. This would not stand. She swore on her honor as a Stragman and as a Chos that she would get her husband and her army back, but more, she swore that Pyria would pay in blood a hundred times over for this humiliation. She just didn’t know how.
