Ulric chewed the situation over, a bit longer before he had his priorities sorted.
His main concern wasn't men wearing swords or pushing pikes, it wasn't arrogance to say that he had little to fear from mundane weapons, not when he knew they were coming and could leverage his core's powers against them from afar. It was the battle mages and the high level warriors that were steeped in their Akashic arts that were a serious concern.
Ulric had to admit that it wasn't likely that he'd be so lucky as to find the soldiers composed entirely of half trained grunts or hand selected thugs chosen more for their lack of inclination to ask questions than for their ability. Granted, the cream of the crop had probably gone first to the border with Orlethrem, almost certainly the best of the best had been amongst those slaughtered at the feet of the Havens. So, at least he wasn't now facing a hundred of Prespang's finest, if the whiskerless boy mage here was any indication of things. Still. Three or four battle mages at once could prove problematic if he was forced to take them head on.
Come to think of it, he realized, cowards always held something back to cover their own asses. Ulric would have bet a high-quality radiation filter from the Before that the pricks in charge over there in Kistalfer had kept a small reserve of crack troops devoted to the cause, just in case. Something to ask about later.
"Very well then, " Ulric concluded, "We now know what we're up against and we have some idea of when they will come, and even what direction, since they hail from Kistalfer. All there is now is to arrange a strategy to deal with them."
The somewhat awestruck Prespangers hadn't yet stopped gawping at the caravan of scarred and battered Elves, who were simply going about their regular business.
Those Elves had rather swiftly adopted a fatalistic sort of trust that Ulric would see things taken care of, so long as they followed closely and kept themselves in good order. That kind of trust made Ulric's teeth itch, he'd never been in charge of any group of people larger than a five person research team. It was laughable, a hermit now leading a troupe of people across hostile territory to find them a way back to their promised land. A veritable Moses was the nascent Lord of the Ancient Glade. Ironic, for an atheist. Or was he even really able to call himself such? He'd met maybe two creatures that could qualify for godhood and even communed with them. What do you call someone who knew gods existed and yet did not worship any of them? Ulric cut off that train of thought, refocusing on the situation before him.
He had these two young folk in a camp full of those who had been their traditional enemies, although nobody quite knew why that was the case. Ulric had his suspicions regarding those manufactured animosities but he'd confirm that shit later. He noticed the eyes of the pair drawn to a grassy dip in the forest where a huddle of Aes'r were following instructions from a self-appointed Lieutenant that Ulric and Taipan relied on to delegate to the Orlethrem rings that formed tight knit travel groups.
Right now, they'd stuffed something Taipan had killed with her Iskios magic into a couple of big cauldrons for stewing. Something pretty damned tasty by the smell of it. Teaching his Shadow to recognize herbs for flavoring, not just the ones that were hilariously toxic, had proven a godsend. Between the two of them, they normally managed to forage a belt pouch full of goodies that greatly amplified the taste and nutritional content of whatever wild game they managed to bag. Such was the only reason their preserved food stocks had carried them even this far.
Seeing the obvious hunger in the features of the two native citizens, Ulric sighed. Seems he would be playing the part of host again.
"Alright, we've got the gist of things, let's go see what's cooking, before the both of you start drooling." Ulric said, startling the pair.
Taipan looked at him somewhat smugly, noting, "You should avoid developing a habit of taking in strays, my Glade Chief. For a self-avowed hermit you seem to have a softness towards younglings lost in the woods."
Helping out strangers in the woods was what had gotten him neck deep in all this shit in the first place, when he'd saved an Iriel'en Prince, young Bright Eyes, only son of Bald'rt Iriel, and one day heir to the seat of power in Orlethrem. Only, since being near fatally poisoned, Bald'rt had yielded that throne somewhat earlier than planned and Brighteyes was currently acting Crown and warlord of the Orlethrem confederation. Odd world. Maybe Taipan had a point.
Still, he couldn't deny that his restraint had been rewarded. First by earning himself the friendship of the Elves and, just now, by gaining the intelligence he'd much needed to lead this rabble towards safety.
"Not my fault you people keep tripping over yourselves in front of me. Besides, my parents were sticklers for being good hosts, so you can blame them for the habit." He retorted.
With that they made their way to the steaming cast iron cook pots, great things big enough to stuff a man full grown into. Or a deer, which was probably what he was smelling now. Damn, now he was craving venison. He'd have to give his wife a foot massage for this gift of meat.
The Elf woman in charge of the cook pots only had one leg, the other missing from the knee down. She'd lost the leg to infection soon after leaving Horrortown in the swamps. Resistant most cored beings were to infection, but everything had limits and being starved and tortured in heinous filth for weeks was certainly past those limits. She'd born the amputation easily, which spoke volumes about what had come before. Right now, the peg legged She-Elf was ladeling stew into each bowl as it was presented to her. Tubers, spices, meat chunks, and other vegetables made for a hearty helping of culinary goodness.
Offering his thanks when he received his portion, he had to commend the resiliency of these Orlethrem once again. They pushed through the darkness and were on their way back to the light now. Smiles could be seen throughout the camps, and laughter heard. It was a little inspiring.
Seated now on a log, Ulric refrained from speech while he ate, a habit adopted from his time amongst the Iriel'en, who did not speak during a meal. As such, the bowl of thick broth and edibles disappeared rapidly.
A light belch concluded the meal, and Ulric sighed satisfaction before he addressed the wayward love birds.
"So. What now are your plans, the both of you?" He asked, setting aside the bowl and large wooden soup spoon.
They shared a look between them and the red head answered without hesitation.
"You spoke earlier of the Bane. Then these were once held by my countrymen for the purpose?" The Floramancer, Germen mage, or something close, asked, indicating the surrounding people.
Ulric only nodded, waiting to see where this was going.
The young former agent of Prosper looked around the camp at the handiwork of his superiors and shook his head sadly.
"I had thought I knew the worst of the crimes I had participated in. It seems that there is yet more I must answer for." The Mage said with the kind of tired resignation that comes with carrying a heavy weight voluntarily.
Fortunately for him, his companion wasn't willing to let him shoulder that burden alone and she took his head in her hands staring him down deliberately.
"You are not a part of this. The sins of others cannot be your own, or we all may as well be given death for the crimes of evil men the world over." Spoke the Leor woman in low tones.
"Besides," She continued, "Now we know our course with even greater certainty. We will help those who have rejected Prosper's chains and then we will go to lands that have never known them and begin our lives anew."
The Catkin released her companion and nodded firmly when he bobbed his chin in acknowledgement. Was it wrong to judge them for mirroring each other's gestures?
"Sooo…you were just going to pop in, tell them there were some soldiers headed their way and then, what, vamoose?" Ulric asked.
Both nodded again, emphatically. Hah. Well, he couldn't exactly blame them for that. It was already a pretty decent thing to stop by and do that much, instead of high tailing it the opposite direction and using that dissenters camp for distraction.
"Well, okay, I guess that makes sense," Ulric admitted with a measure of reluctance, "But why are you deciding to hang in there and slug it out now?"
The Leor girl raised a clinched little fist up and shook it against the oppressors, declaring boldly "Because we now have the help of Aes'r freedom fighters and their Lord!"
Silence fell heavy across the forest as one hundred forty seven pairs of almond shaped, metallic flecked Elven eyes locked onto the beastkin girl, its combined weight like added gravity. Spontaneously, the entire group starting laughing. Laughing heartily from the belly, some of them abandoning dignity to roll on the ground, most with tears from their eyes.
"What fighting am I doing with no legs, you daft wench!?" Cried one from her place on the ground.
"Oh, indeed, we're just stroll up to an army with our rags, scars, stumps, and a chipper attitude and spook them right off, aren't we?" Sassed another.
"I reckon I could bite a couple of them pretty badly if they got close enough." Offered a third, from the raucous laughter.
Ulric and Taipan, having been exposed to the heckling of their wards during their travels were immune. The two youngsters wilted somewhat under the barrage of merriment and sarcastic suggestions. Ulric almost allowed his stoic expression to slip when one of them offered themselves up to be swung by the Elf's one remaining arm as a weapon by Ulric in place of his sword.
Taipan patted the Leor girl's shoulder consolingly advising her, "Do not take them seriously. They have suffered much and it has caused them to enjoy being assholes towards whomever they meet. And also, you should refrain from speaking before you have thought about what you are about to say."
The reforged man found himself agreeing with her before he could catch himself. Gods what would Tolkien have though if he'd known that the noble and dignified Elves about which he wrote were real and were absolute dicks when they wanted to be?
Probably he'd have shipped their pointy eared asses off West a little sooner in the tales.
"Okay, okay, calm down you bastards, she didn't mean anything by it." Ulric scolded the peanut gallery, without any hope they'd discover shame, before he turned back to the pair of Kistalfer natives.
"More like you meant I'd be able to do something to help out. Which, thanks for the vote of confidence, but what makes you two think I can be of any help against a garrison of the Baron's troops?" Ulric asked them.
The ginger mage raised a hand bearing a set of rings, each with a different gem set. Ulric hadn't paid them any mind before, other than to note that it was unlikely the mage ever fought with a blade in hand. Wearing multiple rings could make your grip less sure and were not to be worn unless you were already going to be wearing gauntlets.
"This third one, the one set in garnet, is an Artifact, a gift from my wealthy uncle, inscribed with a rune circuit that causes it to change color depending on the strength of a nearby core's mana." Revealed the rebel Adept, showing the shimmering blood red jewel.
An Artifact? Neato. Like having a little [Scan] that didn't give itself away.
"Oh yeah?" Ulric responded, unable to hide his interest in magiteck, "And what's that dark red mean?"
The mage frowned at him a little before answering. So something bad?
"It means that your Lordship is a monstrous power that could likely snuff me and everyone in this clearing easily. Your mate is not inconsequential at all, either. The most likely candidate to be sent leading this force though, she is rumored to have been hand selected by the Golden Thrones to join their personal guard in no short time. She is deadly by all accounts, and my artifact went solidly orange in her presence, the one brief time our cadres interacted."
Right. Well. Ulric had not been expecting that kind of reply. Of course, Gother had always said his core and mana reserve were abnormal, especially considering his age. His musings on the nature of the commander of the group were interrupted by the widening smile on Taipan's face.
Sheepishly, Ulric ignored his wife's smug grin. She somewhat regularly called him unnatural. Not that he could take credit, the Watcher's reforging was not something done by half measure.
"Fine, so I might be able to make them regret leaving their walls. Whether I do or not depends on what we're up against." Ulric told them, not hesitating to hedge his willingness to commit to anything.
Under his protection were these Elves and he wasn't going to risk them getting them caught. They were so close to those damned ships!
"Look, I'm not going to sugar coat this, I don't really give a rat's ass about this encampment of free peoples. I got my plate full keeping these Orlethrem out of Prosper's clutches so they can't make any more Bane, and I have business with the Merchant Lords themselves. I'm not at liberty to run around playing hero to everyone I meet, especially not if I want to catch those fuckers napping. As it is, my intentions were made clear to any who bore word to the Golden Thrones, and I intend to not be stopped long enough for their catspaws and assassins to get a solid bead on me before I'm down their throats." He told the pair gruffly.
He'd already made too much noise when he'd lost his temper in Bartala and the ensuing hijinks upon the high seas.
"These human scum, no offense to you my husband, stand between us and our access to the boats of Kistalfer. It would be better to meet them in the field, where they do not yet know we exist, rather than to do so after discovery, from behind their walls." Advised Taipan.
Good point. Avoiding battle would cost them more time and mean more risk later. The fewer soldiers whatever thug Prosper kept collared to run the city, the easier a time he would have.
"Aye, Taipan, you are right in this. I'm not against wiping more of Prosper's pieces from the board, but I wouldn't risk you being less than one hundred percent, not when the injuries limit your mobility, which, I might remind you, is your greatest strength." Retorted the reforged man with chagrin.
Damn. Damn. Damn. Fuck and Damn. Was there really any choice?
"Fuck!" Ulric snarled, hating feeling like his back was constantly to a wall, "Fine! I'll do something about these soldiers, just you tell me everything you know about their number, disposition, and anything you can regarding whether there are mages or high-level, developed classes amongst them."
That second bit was directed at the conscientious objector, who spilled the beans without hesitation.
About forty men at arms, low level reserves, mixed pikes, swords, and archers, the usual fare in this not quite feudal society. Not a big deal, all things considered. Five of them were from Prosper's favorite mercenary group, the one led by the infamous Vars who turned murder of Elves into a hobby. Those would be trouble, they were rumored to be substantially stronger than any of the grunts. Then the commander, a zealot by description, but a competent leader and fighter. The real kicker was that there was a detachment of mages. That news came with a bit of a shock for Ulric.
"What the hell do you mean it's a choir led by a composer?" Ulric demanded, upon being informed of the presence of a dangerous mage component to the garrison.
None of these terms were familiar to Ulric as they were being used. Taipan was the one who answered, a calming hand on his arm. He settled down and buried the frustration and lurking Lord Instinct that was becoming more active with so many threats looming about.
"Few are capable of becoming Adept magi, fewer still since Prosper expended so many in their attempt to slay my father." Interjected Taipan, before continuing to explain the issue.
Somewhat contemptuously, the Sylvan Huntress continued, "Novice mages do not possess the learning or disciplined control of their powers to be potent spell casters. That does not mean that they do not have the ability to channel their limited energies though, and, being unawakened, their magic is somewhat easily joined to the control of another through use of a peculiar method of concentration. It leaves the tributary mages completely defenseless, is inefficient as only a single will may weave the magics, and is only done for desperation amongst the Aes'r."
Now that there was a wrinkle. So, you take a half dozen untrained mages and funnel their strength into an Adept. Sort of batterying the real mage.
"And this doesn't lead to problems with getting too much unaspected mana in one place and causing resonances?" Ulric asked, being all too familiar with the problems associated with wild magic reactivity.
It was Carrot top who answered, "It does. Which is why the choir cannot act to protect themselves. They must focus completely on regulating the flow of mana from their core into the score, the magical siphon that feeds their power into the active workings of the Composer mage."
Alright, that there was some good news, at least. Wait, this was an idiotic strategy, wasn't it? You didn't even need to attack this so-called Composer, just target his choir and he's got to protect them all himself, wasting the extra energy they're feeding him. Or, that was how he imagined it would have to go against another mage of any combat sense. Or against the Elves, who knew how to fight against mages.
"That's dumb." Ulric said, and outlined his reasoning.
"It is, it is folly to put children who cannot even manage to cast for themselves on a battlefield, but Prespang was ever eager to spend its blood to water the roots. They no longer bring Composers against the Iriel'en, because our scouts easily dispatch the entire Choir and thus free us of potential mages in the future. We used to leave the Composers alive on purpose, simply to watch another group of novices be led forwards to be slaughtered by our Hunters." Commented his Shadow with disgust at the wasteful expenditure of lives.
The Leor girl kicked a foot against the detritus of the forest floor, grimacing, "Aes'r can be arrogant, but your mate is not wrong to look down on the practice. Nor are you, who must be familiar with the arts. Against an enemy who faces them upon even terms, the Choir is more or less a sacrifice of many young mages to preserve the life of a single Adept. But such practice is seen as acceptable loss to the beasts in their high seats. What are a few lives to keep their precious Magisters and battle mages firmly in place?"
"Besides," Interjected the Germen Mage bitterly, "We are trained to deploy in such formations behind a wall of expendable troops. The conscripts will march forth, into the teeth of the enemy's defenses and draw fire while the Composer leads their choir from safety. It is standard doctrine."
Watcher's tits, whoever was calling the shots really did have no regard for life what so ever. None. It was a cold dead heart that pulled the strings of Prespang.
Their powwow died down after that and the pair of slightly worn down, bedraggled Prespangers took rest in the camp of those fey folk that they had been raised to believe were wild, unpredictable savages whose druids who sacrificed virgins to trees and kept Otherkin for pets and servants.
The reality of the Elves was that, while pretty, they were mostly just people. A little weird, with customs that didn’t make sense unless you might hang around for a couple of centuries, but people nevertheless. These Orlethrem in particularly were a bit earthy and, given their trials, slightly saltier than the average Elf. The weak and the frail had been pruned from their number long since, only the harder of the captives had long survived their torture, their inner strength a curse.
Given that their adoptive Lord had given his hospitality toward the pair, the Elves took them in as guests. Ulric went to bed without worry that the refugees and the couple would find friction between them but heavy with worries about the punitive force that was somewhere out there, maybe headed this way. Tomorrow would hold more of the violence that punctuated his life since waking in the elder forest, and which had made itself particularly frequent since setting out from Irielhos on this mission. Ulric lay awake an hour brooding on the revelations of the day, churning over his options. Taipan, with her understated understanding about how his krangled brain worked, snuggled his head on her chest to put an end to his self gnawing and the comforting heat and smell of her acted like a narcotic, parting him from the waking world gently.
Ulric chewed the situation over, a bit longer before he had his priorities sorted.
His main concern wasn't men wearing swords or pushing pikes, it wasn't arrogance to say that he had little to fear from mundane weapons, not when he knew they were coming and could leverage his core's powers against them from afar. It was the battle mages and the high level warriors that were steeped in their Akashic arts that were a serious concern.
Ulric had to admit that it wasn't likely that he'd be so lucky as to find the soldiers composed entirely of half trained grunts or hand selected thugs chosen more for their lack of inclination to ask questions than for their ability. Granted, the cream of the crop had probably gone first to the border with Orlethrem, almost certainly the best of the best had been amongst those slaughtered at the feet of the Havens. So, at least he wasn't now facing a hundred of Prespang's finest, if the whiskerless boy mage here was any indication of things. Still. Three or four battle mages at once could prove problematic if he was forced to take them head on.
Come to think of it, he realized, cowards always held something back to cover their own asses. Ulric would have bet a high-quality radiation filter from the Before that the pricks in charge over there in Kistalfer had kept a small reserve of crack troops devoted to the cause, just in case. Something to ask about later.
"Very well then, " Ulric concluded, "We now know what we're up against and we have some idea of when they will come, and even what direction, since they hail from Kistalfer. All there is now is to arrange a strategy to deal with them."
The somewhat awestruck Prespangers hadn't yet stopped gawping at the caravan of scarred and battered Elves, who were simply going about their regular business.
Those Elves had rather swiftly adopted a fatalistic sort of trust that Ulric would see things taken care of, so long as they followed closely and kept themselves in good order. That kind of trust made Ulric's teeth itch, he'd never been in charge of any group of people larger than a five person research team. It was laughable, a hermit now leading a troupe of people across hostile territory to find them a way back to their promised land. A veritable Moses was the nascent Lord of the Ancient Glade. Ironic, for an atheist. Or was he even really able to call himself such? He'd met maybe two creatures that could qualify for godhood and even communed with them. What do you call someone who knew gods existed and yet did not worship any of them? Ulric cut off that train of thought, refocusing on the situation before him.
He had these two young folk in a camp full of those who had been their traditional enemies, although nobody quite knew why that was the case. Ulric had his suspicions regarding those manufactured animosities but he'd confirm that shit later. He noticed the eyes of the pair drawn to a grassy dip in the forest where a huddle of Aes'r were following instructions from a self-appointed Lieutenant that Ulric and Taipan relied on to delegate to the Orlethrem rings that formed tight knit travel groups.
Right now, they'd stuffed something Taipan had killed with her Iskios magic into a couple of big cauldrons for stewing. Something pretty damned tasty by the smell of it. Teaching his Shadow to recognize herbs for flavoring, not just the ones that were hilariously toxic, had proven a godsend. Between the two of them, they normally managed to forage a belt pouch full of goodies that greatly amplified the taste and nutritional content of whatever wild game they managed to bag. Such was the only reason their preserved food stocks had carried them even this far.
Seeing the obvious hunger in the features of the two native citizens, Ulric sighed. Seems he would be playing the part of host again.
"Alright, we've got the gist of things, let's go see what's cooking, before the both of you start drooling." Ulric said, startling the pair.
Taipan looked at him somewhat smugly, noting, "You should avoid developing a habit of taking in strays, my Glade Chief. For a self-avowed hermit you seem to have a softness towards younglings lost in the woods."
Helping out strangers in the woods was what had gotten him neck deep in all this shit in the first place, when he'd saved an Iriel'en Prince, young Bright Eyes, only son of Bald'rt Iriel, and one day heir to the seat of power in Orlethrem. Only, since being near fatally poisoned, Bald'rt had yielded that throne somewhat earlier than planned and Brighteyes was currently acting Crown and warlord of the Orlethrem confederation. Odd world. Maybe Taipan had a point.
Still, he couldn't deny that his restraint had been rewarded. First by earning himself the friendship of the Elves and, just now, by gaining the intelligence he'd much needed to lead this rabble towards safety.
"Not my fault you people keep tripping over yourselves in front of me. Besides, my parents were sticklers for being good hosts, so you can blame them for the habit." He retorted.
With that they made their way to the steaming cast iron cook pots, great things big enough to stuff a man full grown into. Or a deer, which was probably what he was smelling now. Damn, now he was craving venison. He'd have to give his wife a foot massage for this gift of meat.
The Elf woman in charge of the cook pots only had one leg, the other missing from the knee down. She'd lost the leg to infection soon after leaving Horrortown in the swamps. Resistant most cored beings were to infection, but everything had limits and being starved and tortured in heinous filth for weeks was certainly past those limits. She'd born the amputation easily, which spoke volumes about what had come before. Right now, the peg legged She-Elf was ladeling stew into each bowl as it was presented to her. Tubers, spices, meat chunks, and other vegetables made for a hearty helping of culinary goodness.
Offering his thanks when he received his portion, he had to commend the resiliency of these Orlethrem once again. They pushed through the darkness and were on their way back to the light now. Smiles could be seen throughout the camps, and laughter heard. It was a little inspiring.
Seated now on a log, Ulric refrained from speech while he ate, a habit adopted from his time amongst the Iriel'en, who did not speak during a meal. As such, the bowl of thick broth and edibles disappeared rapidly.
A light belch concluded the meal, and Ulric sighed satisfaction before he addressed the wayward love birds.
"So. What now are your plans, the both of you?" He asked, setting aside the bowl and large wooden soup spoon.
They shared a look between them and the red head answered without hesitation.
"You spoke earlier of the Bane. Then these were once held by my countrymen for the purpose?" The Floramancer, Germen mage, or something close, asked, indicating the surrounding people.
Ulric only nodded, waiting to see where this was going.
The young former agent of Prosper looked around the camp at the handiwork of his superiors and shook his head sadly.
"I had thought I knew the worst of the crimes I had participated in. It seems that there is yet more I must answer for." The Mage said with the kind of tired resignation that comes with carrying a heavy weight voluntarily.
Fortunately for him, his companion wasn't willing to let him shoulder that burden alone and she took his head in her hands staring him down deliberately.
"You are not a part of this. The sins of others cannot be your own, or we all may as well be given death for the crimes of evil men the world over." Spoke the Leor woman in low tones.
"Besides," She continued, "Now we know our course with even greater certainty. We will help those who have rejected Prosper's chains and then we will go to lands that have never known them and begin our lives anew."
The Catkin released her companion and nodded firmly when he bobbed his chin in acknowledgement. Was it wrong to judge them for mirroring each other's gestures?
"Sooo…you were just going to pop in, tell them there were some soldiers headed their way and then, what, vamoose?" Ulric asked.
Both nodded again, emphatically. Hah. Well, he couldn't exactly blame them for that. It was already a pretty decent thing to stop by and do that much, instead of high tailing it the opposite direction and using that dissenters camp for distraction.
"Well, okay, I guess that makes sense," Ulric admitted with a measure of reluctance, "But why are you deciding to hang in there and slug it out now?"
The Leor girl raised a clinched little fist up and shook it against the oppressors, declaring boldly "Because we now have the help of Aes'r freedom fighters and their Lord!"
Silence fell heavy across the forest as one hundred forty seven pairs of almond shaped, metallic flecked Elven eyes locked onto the beastkin girl, its combined weight like added gravity. Spontaneously, the entire group starting laughing. Laughing heartily from the belly, some of them abandoning dignity to roll on the ground, most with tears from their eyes.
"What fighting am I doing with no legs, you daft wench!?" Cried one from her place on the ground.
"Oh, indeed, we're just stroll up to an army with our rags, scars, stumps, and a chipper attitude and spook them right off, aren't we?" Sassed another.
"I reckon I could bite a couple of them pretty badly if they got close enough." Offered a third, from the raucous laughter.
Ulric and Taipan, having been exposed to the heckling of their wards during their travels were immune. The two youngsters wilted somewhat under the barrage of merriment and sarcastic suggestions. Ulric almost allowed his stoic expression to slip when one of them offered themselves up to be swung by the Elf's one remaining arm as a weapon by Ulric in place of his sword.
Taipan patted the Leor girl's shoulder consolingly advising her, "Do not take them seriously. They have suffered much and it has caused them to enjoy being assholes towards whomever they meet. And also, you should refrain from speaking before you have thought about what you are about to say."
The reforged man found himself agreeing with her before he could catch himself. Gods what would Tolkien have though if he'd known that the noble and dignified Elves about which he wrote were real and were absolute dicks when they wanted to be?
Probably he'd have shipped their pointy eared asses off West a little sooner in the tales.
"Okay, okay, calm down you bastards, she didn't mean anything by it." Ulric scolded the peanut gallery, without any hope they'd discover shame, before he turned back to the pair of Kistalfer natives.
"More like you meant I'd be able to do something to help out. Which, thanks for the vote of confidence, but what makes you two think I can be of any help against a garrison of the Baron's troops?" Ulric asked them.
The ginger mage raised a hand bearing a set of rings, each with a different gem set. Ulric hadn't paid them any mind before, other than to note that it was unlikely the mage ever fought with a blade in hand. Wearing multiple rings could make your grip less sure and were not to be worn unless you were already going to be wearing gauntlets.
"This third one, the one set in garnet, is an Artifact, a gift from my wealthy uncle, inscribed with a rune circuit that causes it to change color depending on the strength of a nearby core's mana." Revealed the rebel Adept, showing the shimmering blood red jewel.
An Artifact? Neato. Like having a little [Scan] that didn't give itself away.
"Oh yeah?" Ulric responded, unable to hide his interest in magiteck, "And what's that dark red mean?"
The mage frowned at him a little before answering. So something bad?
"It means that your Lordship is a monstrous power that could likely snuff me and everyone in this clearing easily. Your mate is not inconsequential at all, either. The most likely candidate to be sent leading this force though, she is rumored to have been hand selected by the Golden Thrones to join their personal guard in no short time. She is deadly by all accounts, and my artifact went solidly orange in her presence, the one brief time our cadres interacted."
Right. Well. Ulric had not been expecting that kind of reply. Of course, Gother had always said his core and mana reserve were abnormal, especially considering his age. His musings on the nature of the commander of the group were interrupted by the widening smile on Taipan's face.
Sheepishly, Ulric ignored his wife's smug grin. She somewhat regularly called him unnatural. Not that he could take credit, the Watcher's reforging was not something done by half measure.
"Fine, so I might be able to make them regret leaving their walls. Whether I do or not depends on what we're up against." Ulric told them, not hesitating to hedge his willingness to commit to anything.
Under his protection were these Elves and he wasn't going to risk them getting them caught. They were so close to those damned ships!
"Look, I'm not going to sugar coat this, I don't really give a rat's ass about this encampment of free peoples. I got my plate full keeping these Orlethrem out of Prosper's clutches so they can't make any more Bane, and I have business with the Merchant Lords themselves. I'm not at liberty to run around playing hero to everyone I meet, especially not if I want to catch those fuckers napping. As it is, my intentions were made clear to any who bore word to the Golden Thrones, and I intend to not be stopped long enough for their catspaws and assassins to get a solid bead on me before I'm down their throats." He told the pair gruffly.
He'd already made too much noise when he'd lost his temper in Bartala and the ensuing hijinks upon the high seas.
"These human scum, no offense to you my husband, stand between us and our access to the boats of Kistalfer. It would be better to meet them in the field, where they do not yet know we exist, rather than to do so after discovery, from behind their walls." Advised Taipan.
Good point. Avoiding battle would cost them more time and mean more risk later. The fewer soldiers whatever thug Prosper kept collared to run the city, the easier a time he would have.
"Aye, Taipan, you are right in this. I'm not against wiping more of Prosper's pieces from the board, but I wouldn't risk you being less than one hundred percent, not when the injuries limit your mobility, which, I might remind you, is your greatest strength." Retorted the reforged man with chagrin.
Damn. Damn. Damn. Fuck and Damn. Was there really any choice?
"Fuck!" Ulric snarled, hating feeling like his back was constantly to a wall, "Fine! I'll do something about these soldiers, just you tell me everything you know about their number, disposition, and anything you can regarding whether there are mages or high-level, developed classes amongst them."
That second bit was directed at the conscientious objector, who spilled the beans without hesitation.
About forty men at arms, low level reserves, mixed pikes, swords, and archers, the usual fare in this not quite feudal society. Not a big deal, all things considered. Five of them were from Prosper's favorite mercenary group, the one led by the infamous Vars who turned murder of Elves into a hobby. Those would be trouble, they were rumored to be substantially stronger than any of the grunts. Then the commander, a zealot by description, but a competent leader and fighter. The real kicker was that there was a detachment of mages. That news came with a bit of a shock for Ulric.
"What the hell do you mean it's a choir led by a composer?" Ulric demanded, upon being informed of the presence of a dangerous mage component to the garrison.
None of these terms were familiar to Ulric as they were being used. Taipan was the one who answered, a calming hand on his arm. He settled down and buried the frustration and lurking Lord Instinct that was becoming more active with so many threats looming about.
"Few are capable of becoming Adept magi, fewer still since Prosper expended so many in their attempt to slay my father." Interjected Taipan, before continuing to explain the issue.
Somewhat contemptuously, the Sylvan Huntress continued, "Novice mages do not possess the learning or disciplined control of their powers to be potent spell casters. That does not mean that they do not have the ability to channel their limited energies though, and, being unawakened, their magic is somewhat easily joined to the control of another through use of a peculiar method of concentration. It leaves the tributary mages completely defenseless, is inefficient as only a single will may weave the magics, and is only done for desperation amongst the Aes'r."
Now that there was a wrinkle. So, you take a half dozen untrained mages and funnel their strength into an Adept. Sort of batterying the real mage.
"And this doesn't lead to problems with getting too much unaspected mana in one place and causing resonances?" Ulric asked, being all too familiar with the problems associated with wild magic reactivity.
It was Carrot top who answered, "It does. Which is why the choir cannot act to protect themselves. They must focus completely on regulating the flow of mana from their core into the score, the magical siphon that feeds their power into the active workings of the Composer mage."
Alright, that there was some good news, at least. Wait, this was an idiotic strategy, wasn't it? You didn't even need to attack this so-called Composer, just target his choir and he's got to protect them all himself, wasting the extra energy they're feeding him. Or, that was how he imagined it would have to go against another mage of any combat sense. Or against the Elves, who knew how to fight against mages.
"That's dumb." Ulric said, and outlined his reasoning.
"It is, it is folly to put children who cannot even manage to cast for themselves on a battlefield, but Prespang was ever eager to spend its blood to water the roots. They no longer bring Composers against the Iriel'en, because our scouts easily dispatch the entire Choir and thus free us of potential mages in the future. We used to leave the Composers alive on purpose, simply to watch another group of novices be led forwards to be slaughtered by our Hunters." Commented his Shadow with disgust at the wasteful expenditure of lives.
The Leor girl kicked a foot against the detritus of the forest floor, grimacing, "Aes'r can be arrogant, but your mate is not wrong to look down on the practice. Nor are you, who must be familiar with the arts. Against an enemy who faces them upon even terms, the Choir is more or less a sacrifice of many young mages to preserve the life of a single Adept. But such practice is seen as acceptable loss to the beasts in their high seats. What are a few lives to keep their precious Magisters and battle mages firmly in place?"
"Besides," Interjected the Germen Mage bitterly, "We are trained to deploy in such formations behind a wall of expendable troops. The conscripts will march forth, into the teeth of the enemy's defenses and draw fire while the Composer leads their choir from safety. It is standard doctrine."
Watcher's tits, whoever was calling the shots really did have no regard for life what so ever. None. It was a cold dead heart that pulled the strings of Prespang.
Their powwow died down after that and the pair of slightly worn down, bedraggled Prespangers took rest in the camp of those fey folk that they had been raised to believe were wild, unpredictable savages whose druids who sacrificed virgins to trees and kept Otherkin for pets and servants.
The reality of the Elves was that, while pretty, they were mostly just people. A little weird, with customs that didn’t make sense unless you might hang around for a couple of centuries, but people nevertheless. These Orlethrem in particularly were a bit earthy and, given their trials, slightly saltier than the average Elf. The weak and the frail had been pruned from their number long since, only the harder of the captives had long survived their torture, their inner strength a curse.
Given that their adoptive Lord had given his hospitality toward the pair, the Elves took them in as guests. Ulric went to bed without worry that the refugees and the couple would find friction between them but heavy with worries about the punitive force that was somewhere out there, maybe headed this way. Tomorrow would hold more of the violence that punctuated his life since waking in the elder forest, and which had made itself particularly frequent since setting out from Irielhos on this mission. Ulric lay awake an hour brooding on the revelations of the day, churning over his options. Taipan, with her understated understanding about how his krangled brain worked, snuggled his head on her chest to put an end to his self gnawing and the comforting heat and smell of her acted like a narcotic, parting him from the waking world gently.
