Valkyrie's Shadow

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 11, Chapter 11

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 11, Chapter 11

Chapter 11

22nd Day, Middle Wind Month, 1 CE

“Captain, squads nine through twenty-one have finished reporting in.”

“What did they discover?”

“The major points are effectively identical,” Saiko said. “They await your orders.”

Ludmila sighed. The four temple staff members lined up in front of her echoed her sigh. The Beastmen leaving countless intoxicated Humans in their wake probably delayed the Royal Army’s advance more than any conventional strategy they could have used.

“Have we received a response from Countess Corelyn’s delegation yet?” She asked.

“No,” Saiko answered, “but this is not a situation our forces are equipped to handle regardless.”

She wasn’t sure if anyone in the theatre was equipped to handle the situation, never mind the Elder Liches and Death-series servitors.

A mere day into their operation, they already had over a hundred thousand poisoned citizens on their hands. From a tactical perspective, the Beastmen’s use of the wild Laira variant worked in the Royal Army’s favour. The effect of the plant was such that the afflicted citizens didn’t even care to move and the Undead advance didn’t allow the Beastmen the luxury of moving them. Immobilising them with paralysing levels of terror proved unnecessary; the citizens were already experiencing paralysing levels of euphoria.

While this effectively secured the Draconic Kingdom’s citizens for them, it also left the army with a countryside filled with intoxicated invalids. Their state was such that they just stayed awake until they collapsed from exhaustion and soiled themselves wherever they languished. They wouldn’t eat or drink unless someone was actively nursing them.

“Resume our advance,” Ludmila said. “Have the sergeants continue to report their findings. Let me know as soon as they notice any changes in the state of the citizenry.”

“Acknowledged, Captain.”

Saiko turned away before flying off to see to his tasks. Ludmila turned her attention back to the temple staff. As with what she had witnessed across the Draconic Kingdom, the town’s strongest citizens were culled through purposeful effort, leaving the young and inexperienced behind. Of the four, three were Acolytes, while the other had been ordained for less than a year.

Ludmila’s gaze went past their shoulders to the open door of the warehouse behind them. She walked past the group, stopping at the first of several wagons within. She reached into one of the sacks in its cargo, withdrawing a somewhat-intact sample of the crushed plants stored inside. She turned and presented it to the eldest – a young woman from the Temple of Bounty.

“Have any of you seen this plant before?” She asked.

The temple staff passed the plant between them. All of them shook their heads after a brief examination.

“We’ve never seen it before,” the woman said. “Can it be assumed that this is responsible for the state of our townsfolk?”

“It is,” Ludmila said. “This is a wild variant of Laira: the plant refined into what is commonly known as ‘Black Dust’.”

“Black Dust,” the woman breathed, “we recognised the symptoms, but it’s hard to imagine something from Re-Estize ending up here during all this…”

Ludmila frowned inwardly at the reply, wondering if the mental map of those in the Draconic Kingdom simply had a label with ‘narcotics’ slapped on top of the kingdom in the region’s northwest. The arbitrary response, however, demonstrated something odd – something that Lord Mare had pointed out to her about Job Classes.

By his explanation, every Job Class was an appropriately-themed ‘bundle’ of knowledge, skills and abilities. She had no reason to believe that he was lying, but it was still difficult to accept and hard to prove. The juxtaposition of different Job Class specialities playing out before her was likely as good an example as one could normally get.

According to Queen Oriculus, Laira did not grow in the Draconic Kingdom; neither did it see distribution from other Human countries. Thus, the Cleric referred to it through its association with Re-Estize. At the same time, however, she ‘recognised’ the symptoms.

“Did everyone else recognise the symptoms?” Ludmila asked.

All of the temple staff nodded. The youngest of them was six or seven, so Ludmila couldn’t imagine her being educated in narcotics that she wouldn’t ever be expected to see.

The answer to the anomalous knowledge lay in the fact that Job Classes in the ‘healer’ category could innately assess and identify ailments afflicting their patients – or ‘targets’ as Lord Mare called them. This expertise was dependent on their level and several other factors, but, as Laira was a mundane plant with mundane effects, even Acolytes gained basic Job Class insights on its effects. Whether they could do something about them was dependent on whether they knew the requisite treatment, which was, in turn, dependent on their level and the spells that they had access to.

Rather than the effects of Laira being something they had studied about or seen before, the diagnosis was something that they felt. From there, their minds worked backwards to come up with the most plausible rationale for their insight. In the Priests’ case, the common knowledge of the drug’s presence in Re-Estize led to it being the source, despite their information being based on rumours of faraway lands.

If one were to ask a Ranger, they wouldn’t be able to so accurately assess the symptoms of the afflicted without learned expertise. The closest it would probably be was ‘poisoned’ or ‘sick’. They could, however, look at the plant and innately understand that it was dangerous in some way. Their knowledge of poisons could also lead to figuring out some Ranger-related use for it. A Ranger’s knowledge of nature also gave a sense of the conditions that the plant required to grow and they would then use that insight in combination with their experience and knowledge to identify the closest probable source.

When Ludmila examined the plant, her immediate conclusion was not that it came from ‘Re-Estize’ despite her witnessing its cultivation and abuse in and around Fassett County. Instead, it was that it either grew naturally in the semi-arid wilderness south of the Empire, or the mountain valleys between the Oriculon Basin and the vast desert to its south. At the same time, she somehow knew that it couldn’t grow in the Draconic Kingdom, even though its southern provinces were an ideal climate for it.

Nothing said that it couldn’t grow in both of the other places – mundane plants didn’t pick and choose where they grew, after all – and she did recall seeing it growing alongside the other vegetation during her time with the Empire’s Fifth and Sixth Army Groups. However, since the highly territorial Wyvern Rider Tribes were in the way and the south was more accessible to the Beastmen anyway, that the Laira came from the ranges to the Draconic Kingdom’s southeast became the logical conclusion.

If one presented the sample to a Job Class with natural knowledge and the eye of a healer – such as a Druid – they would be able to identify the effects of Laira on their patient and accurately point out the regions where it likely grew, so long as they knew those regions existed. A Druid in the Empire would say it was from the lands south of the Wyvernmark or some similar environment in the Karnassus region. One in the Draconic Kingdom would say it was from the mountains bordering the Draconic Kingdom’s southern provinces.

The existence of this Job Class mechanism was naturally exploited by many cultures. In particular, the occasional appearance of ‘travellers’ in tribal societies allowed individuals to combine their Job Class insights with new experiences and knowledge, and those travellers would then return to their tribes with beneficial new ideas, technologies and magic.

Smith Kovalev was another example of a traveller in Human society, as was Liane Wagner who had seen the world from the Holy Kingdom of Roble to the Great Steppe. In a way, Ludmila’s work was turning her into a ‘traveller’ too.

“But how did it affect so many people?” The Cleric of Bounty asked, “The Beastmen didn’t force us to take it, nor did they burn it in the streets.”

“They dumped it in your wells,” Ludmila answered. “By the looks of it, multiple sacks at a time. Those who consume Black Dust usually sprinkle a pinch derived from a far-less potent cultivar into a cup of water. We have no idea how long it will take for your groundwater to clear, so it’s advised to draw water from the nearest running source. Barring that, you’ll need to cast Purify Food and Drink on any water that you draw from the wells.”

“No wonder we weren’t afflicted,” the Priest said. “Purifying temple water is routine…I don’t think we’re going to have enough mana to do it for the whole town, though.”

“Once the effects aren’t so severe, the citizens will be evacuated west across the Forst. You won’t have to deal with it there. What’s important right now is that everyone avoids taking additional doses of your tainted water supply.”

The row of temple staff nodded in understanding. Ludmila smiled at how docile they had become. Just thirty minutes previous, two of them tried to turn the Death Knights sweeping the plaza. The youngest one threw a vial of Holy Water at Ludmila.

Why it had been aimed at her and not Saiko, who was standing right beside her, was a mystery. She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask.

In all, however, they had the making of good Clerics. They could have fled with the Beastmen, but instead chose to stay with the people they served.

With the town’s affairs in order, Ludmila flew up to join Saiko, and, after one last look at the town from above, they flew southeast.

“We need more living staff to support our operations,” Ludmila said. “At this rate, we’re going to spend more time dealing with the citizens being left behind than Commanding the army.”

“This situation is unique, is it not?” Saiko asked.

“I’m not so sure about that. This most recent development aside, the ‘Undead horde’ should be one of our default strategies. It’s a convenient bundle of preconceptions that we should exploit at every relevant opportunity.”

“Then, in the future, what would be required?”

“Logistics officers to start with, but that’s something that will fix itself as our army raises more Commanders. We’ll also have to collaborate with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to produce some sort of public relations division. The latter is probably crucial for us going forward.”

The need for logistics officers had already been identified by Captain Gunnar, and it was a role that couldn’t be fulfilled by the Undead beyond the basic tasks that the Undead handled. As for public relations, the Frost Giants’ preferred form of diplomacy was performed with an axe – seemingly the whole army was like that, including Lord Cocytus – so there was a glaring hole in that department.

“Is diplomacy on the field truly necessary?”

“Our work is where diplomacy has the greatest impact,” Ludmila said. “In times of peace, people can talk in pointless circles forever, offering everything, yet nothing at the same time. In war, civil diplomacy is optional, but what is sown on the battlefield will be remembered for generations or even longer. With our…cultural disadvantage, we’ll want to employ every weapon available to achieve our foreign policy goals.”

Saiko’s robes fluttered in the wind as he flew on in silence. Ludmila wondered if those aspects of statecraft would ever matter to the Elder Liches. That in itself was another undeniably useful facet of the ‘Undead horde’ strategy: every imaginable behaviour expected of the Undead would be met with no complaints by their enemies because there was usually no one to complain to. Thus, the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Undead servitors could pursue their goals in their telltale ‘Undead’ way.

She assumed that it would eventually only work on occasion, however. As the Sorcerous Kingdom expanded its influence, more and more of its neighbours would associate the Undead with them rather than any ‘natural’ cause. Additionally, if the Sorcerous Kingdom didn’t arbitrarily wreak havoc everywhere, observers who were aware of the big picture could easily link the appearance of the Undead to the Sorcerous Kingdom’s agendas.

In the end, they would be limited to ‘plausible’ areas with negative zones similar to the Katze Plains, if they existed. Even if they did, the resident Undead might not take kindly to their home being used as a staging ground for a foreign power. It wouldn’t do for a nation that counted the Undead amongst its citizens to not get along with other Undead-friendly states.

The Oriculon loomed ever larger as they flew south, and they arrived over the highway along its northern bank late in the afternoon. Above them, the low-hanging clouds threatened to dump sheets of rain over the land. Below, tens of thousands of Undead shambled forward at roughly one-and-a-half kilometres per hour. Her eyes followed the highway east to the next town, which was roughly fifteen kilometres away. Beyond the town, a long stream of Beastmen were already making their way further east.

“It looks like they intend to carry on with this strategy,” she said.

“The general staff has mixed opinions on whether their growing numbers will encourage them to mount a major offensive soon,” Saiko said.

“Well, our job is to keep that from happening.”

Due to the way that the Royal Army was advancing, the Beastmen couldn’t flee north or south into the mountains along the edges of the Oriculon Basin. She was fairly certain that most of them wouldn’t have anyway, as both the Humans and Beastmen used the basin’s expansive river system as the principal mode of travel. As the hours passed, more and more of the retreating Beastmen reached the banks of the Oriculon. The ships that they expected to use, however, had been denied to them.

With that, the Royal Army’s broad initiative resulted in the conflict being set on a solid course. The Beastmen were being funnelled up the river and their forces were divided in half by the impassable Oriculon. All that was left was to sort them out, which they were doing nicely on their own.

“What are we facing in the town ahead?” Ludmila asked.

“The most recent estimates are up to three sets of twenty thousand Beastmen operating in their respective tribal warbands. They are currently cycling their forces for the ‘evening shift’.”

At first, the Beastmen had divided into two armies that took turns resisting the Undead advance. They didn’t form the same sort of army as Humans did, instead using a warband system that was highly specialised in raiding and skirmishing. That was from a ‘Human’ perspective, however. The Frost Giants saw it as a more normal way to conduct war, and she expected that many Demihumans would think so as well.

“How many are they losing to our Wraith harassment?”

“Roughly five hundred per hour. They are gaining new warriors faster than our combined summons are killing them.”

“It’s just one part of a rapidly-compounding problem for them,” Ludmila said. “We’ll be picking up the pace soon.”

Though she called it ‘harassment’ it was more reconnaissance in force. The Elder Liches sergeants weren’t participating in combat, so they spent their mana on summons that both killed Beastmen and updated their overall picture of the front.

Two hours passed before the Beastmen’s fresh forces started harassing the fringes of the Undead horde’s advance. She watched over three dozen warbands pop up along different parts of the front, using slings to whittle down the mass of weak Undead. They had the same risk-averse approach as they carried since the front developed, retreating whenever the Undead came within a few hundred metres.

While it appeared that the Undead were taking one-sided losses with every assault, the ‘whittling down’ part was mostly an illusion. The Elder Liches controlling the dominated forces were padding the leading fringe with summoned Undead and true losses were negligible.

As the sun set and twilight settled over the land, Ludmila made her first move.

?Let’s begin. Elder Liches, cast Fog Cloud. Make sure they connect properly.?

Blotches of thick white mist started to appear below her, obscuring the landscape below. Fog Cloud was a Second-tier spell that conjured a six-metre-radius ‘cloud’ of fog that emanated from a point of a caster’s choosing. The spell lasted three minutes per level, so each cloud conjured by the Royal Army’s powerful Black Counterfeiters would last one hundred-five minutes. Relatively speaking, it was a cheap spell, and the Elder Liches could combine their efforts to create a ‘fog bank’ that covered the Undead army’s advance.

The skirmishing Beastmen immediately faltered at the sight of the white mist. One of the main benefits of the spell was that it limited vision to two metres. As the fog was conjured, even Ludmila’s Truesight couldn’t see through it.

Once the ‘fog bank’ started to roll forward, the skirmishers pulled back.

?Infantry Squads, advance with the fog. Stay inside of it.?

Her Death-series servitors marched forward. Each squad’s Zombie retinues spread out into the fog while the Death Knights and Death Warriors mingled with them. One of the advantages of having Beastman Zombies was that they were about the same height as Death-series servitors, making it difficult to differentiate between a Level One Zombie and a Level Thirty-Five Death Knight in the mist.

Their shrouded advance continued mostly unchallenged for the next three kilometres. Hopeful hunters sent bullets into the wall of fog, but nearly all of their attacks failed to hit anything but the ground. Eventually, several warbands came together, their Lords conferring with one another on how to tackle the new tactic. After a few minutes, they dispersed and approached.

?Here they come. Send some Zombies ahead. See if you can’t draw them toward you.?

The Beastmen couldn’t see through the fog and the Undead couldn’t see out of it, but Ludmila could see each side from above. Dozens of Zombies appeared at the edge of the cloud, and the Beastmen reacted instantly. The warbands tore into their flimsy opponents and ripped their way deeper into the fog. Their savage war cries were joined by the unearthly howls of Death Knights, and the harsh chorus carried over the countryside.

?Kill as many as you can! Don’t worry if it’s sloppy; we have plenty of prey ahead of us.?

Several minutes later, the sounds of battle died down. Ludmila watched the leading edge of the fog for fleeing Beastmen. In the distance, the Beastmen on the town’s walls also awaited the outcome.

“All sergeants report the resolution of combat,” Saiko said. “All enemies have been neutralised and raised, but our forces will not be able to keep up with the cost in Zombies.”

“I don’t think this will go on for too long,” Ludmila replied.

After her dismal results in generating fear in Rivergarden, she decided that trying too hard was counterproductive and thinking too hard about it was pointless. With the assault on the city behind them, she had her centre force assume the same stance as they had in the west while she dealt with the mess that the Beastmen left behind in every town and village. From what she could see, however, that reversion to their old tactics produced more promising results than the overt slaughter of the urban assault.

As Ilyshn’ish once mentioned, ambush predators enjoyed stalking, but they despised being stalked. Shocking the Beastmen into a state of terror – and the Draconic Kingdom’s citizens, for that matter – didn’t work in the long run, but the way they were doing things now tapped into a different sort of response.

It was a creeping, primal fear that always lurked in the corner of one’s mind. Nothing flashy was required: only the feeling that they were being hunted – the thought that something was tracking them over the horizon or following them from out of sight, ever ready to pounce.

In many ways, it was just her thing. She was an Undead Ranger – or a ‘hunter’ in the Beastmen’s tribal terms. Now, her task was to hunt her quarry with an army.

The fog bank closed within three kilometres of the town, yet the Beastmen still appeared paralysed with indecision. At two kilometres, they started to withdraw.

?Infantry Squads: advance at a jog. Don’t worry about leaving your Zombies behind. Elder Liches: Keep that fog ahead of our infantry.?

“This one does not understand,” Saiko said. “Fog Cloud does render their ranged skirmishing tactics ineffective, but Beastmen favour melee combat. This should not have been such an extreme deterrent.”

“Are those the words of the general staff?”

“No. A personal assessment.”

“A deterrent doesn’t have to be extreme to work. In this case, the enemy that they planned to face became a complete unknown. Furthermore, our forces continued to move with conviction. I think most sensible Commanders would try to figure out what was going on before committing their forces, and we didn’t give them enough time to do so. Thus, they withdrew to avoid falling for whatever trap or scheme was in play.”

Below them, the infantry squads stormed the walls. Ludmila did a rough count of the remaining Beastmen forces trying to get out.

?Conceal the gate with fog. Fireball the opening.?

The white fog that appeared flared with an angry orange glow as six Fireballs promptly incinerated the hundreds of tightly-packed Beastmen pushing through the gate. Death Knights reached those reeling back from the inferno, butchering them on the spot.

“The town has been secured,” Saiko said. “Shall we enter a ‘consumption’ phase?”

“No,” Ludmila looked up the highway, “resume our pursuit. Set our pace to twenty-one kilometres per day and resume harassment with Wraiths. Avoid targeting the civilians as usual.”

“Twenty-one kilometres per day will have us catch up to their slowest civilians. Are we to still leave them alone at that point?”

“No, they can be killed. The goal is to wring every last bit of strength out of them before they collapse and are overtaken. Those that are killed and raised will be sent to chase down those who left them behind. Our Elder Lich controllers should have some free space, so use Ghasts to raise more Ghouls and Ghasts for them to dominate. Repeat the process until we run out of Urmah and Nar targets. Once that happens, increase our pace to catch up with the Ocelo group. This is the last night of sleep that they will ever get.”

“Wai…wait. Please!”

A voice called from behind Kskel. He turned and sent a bullet into an Urmah Zombie that emerged from the mist. The owner of the voice – a female Nar with emerald eyes – gave him a pleading look.

“I…I can’t,” she said weakly. “Help me, please…”

Kskel sent another bullet into a figure in the mist. The Nar fell forward.

“He…he…p,” she panted into the mud. “Please.”

He gritted his teeth and looked away. The tearful moans of the Nar female haunted his footsteps. Then, the mist caught up with her and the moans turned into screams.

She was only one of many. All across the front, the Nar and Urmah struggled to stay ahead of the creeping mist. They ran until they could run no more, and then they walked until they collapsed and the mist took them.

The Nar female reappeared, dashing straight for him. Her coat of stripes was torn and her eyes glowed red. Kskel’s bullet found the Ghoul’s chest and it erupted into a spray of rancid viscera. The stench reached a nearby Urmah, who gagged and doubled over, retching involuntarily.

And, then, the mist took him too.

Well, that’s some timing there.

He looked up at the starless sky. It was probably midnight. How long were they going to be fighting for?

Kskel glanced toward Fensis, who was fighting a dozen metres away. Like him, the young hunter was stuck in a state where he watched Nar and Urmah collapse from exhaustion, disappear amidst heartrending screams, and then reappear as Undead.

Fensis sent a look his way. He knew what he was thinking. Defending the civilians was a futile effort. The insidious nature of the Undead was in full force: they were slow, yet they never tired. It was almost as if they were created to extract the maximum amount of anguish, suffering and despair out of the living.

“We’re pulling out.”

His ears swivelled toward Enjaka’s voice. He wasn’t the only one that heard him.

“No! Don’t leave us!”

“Please!”

“You warriors are supposed to fight! Where is your honour?!”

“I’m sorry!” The chieftain cried, “We must do what is best for Rol’en’gorek. You cannot outrun the Undead and we are still days away from our destination. Losing warbands here means that there will be that many fewer fighting when the clans are ready to fight.”

With one last ‘sorry’, the Lup Lord turned and left. The rest of the warband followed. Kskel fell onto the stones of the road.

…what?

“Kskel!”

He stared up at the darkness. Blinding pain pulsed from his right hip.

“Kskel! We need a mystic over here!”

“What happened?” Kskel asked through a haze of agony.

“It’s…a metal arrow?” Fensis said, “No, it’s shorter. A quarrel. It got you in the hip. Hey! We need a mystic over here!”

“I didn’t know the Undead used crossbows,” Kskel groaned. “The mystics won’t come. They ran out of mana hours ago.”

The pale mist flowed over his legs. Fensis reached down to help him up. A Ghast appeared from the fog and bowled the younger hunter over, biting and clawing with wild abandon. A second one came to attack Kskel.

When Fensis finally fought it off, he kicked the one on Kskel away.

“Let’s get out of here,” Fensis looked around before kneeling beside him. “I’ll help you up.”

“Just go,” Kskel said. “I can’t move my right leg at all. You’re not carrying me all the way back to the jungle.”

“I don’t have to. The mystics will heal you up long before then.”

Another set of Undead came out of the mist. Kskel turned his head to count them. There were five Ghasts, eight Ghouls and dozens of Zombies. One of the Zombies was much stronger than the rest.

“Leave me!” Kskel shouted, “We’re both dying at this rate. You heard the chief’s orders.”

With a frustrated curse, Fensis fled. Kskel wondered if he could at least kill a few Zombies in his wretched state.

To his surprise – and his extended suffering – death didn’t come. The Undead ran right past him, chasing after Fensis. Others similarly went by as if Kskel was nothing more than a pebble on the road. He sighed, lying flat on his back as the rain poured down on him. Cold dread collected in the pit of his stomach as his body seemed to take on a fever.

That damn Ghast infected me! No wonder they left me alone…

How long would it take? His hip was shattered, so he couldn’t move. No help would be coming. He could only lie there and wait.

Suddenly, he realised that someone was standing over him. He squeezed his eyes shut several times, unsure if he was seeing things in his feverish delirium.

A Human?

It looked like a Human, but her scent was weak. A Human female in some sort of white armour. In her right hand was a spear-like weapon. Kskel’s eyes settled on its blade, which glowed with a ghostly light.

“Kill me,” he croaked, then coughed.

The weapon drifted over, its blade hovering over his neck.

“What is your name, hunter?” The Human asked.

“Kskel,” he answered. “Kskel lup Inui.”

He closed his eyes, waiting for her killing stroke. When it didn’t come, he opened them again to find that the Human had withdrawn the weapon.

“Kill me, dammit!” He said, “Give me a warrior’s death, at–”

The words died in his mouth as the strong Zombie from before appeared behind the Human, hefting a black crossbow. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t a Zombie at all. Since it didn’t attack her, Kskel could only assume that the ‘human’ wasn’t a Human at all, but one of the Undead.

“I’ll be leaving you as you are,” she said. “You know why, yes? You can feel the fever taking you, weakening you by the minute.”

“No,” he groaned. “No! Kill me!”

Kskel’s chest heaved. The not-Human knelt beside him, stroking his head with a warm hand.

Warm? Is she Human, after all? Maybe it’s the fever…

“Worry not, Kskel,” she smiled. “All things must die. And for you, a new hunt awaits at the end of life.”

He felt his very being shrink away.

It’s her…

The presence behind the Elder Liches. The cause for the Undead horde’s sudden change in disposition. The slowly growing darkness creeping out of the corners of his mind. It was all her.

Tears streamed from Kskel’s eyes as despair took him. Death stalked the land; his people were her quarry.