Chapter Thirty-Nine: Anger

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Anger

Tom grit his teeth, trying to suppress the agitation boiling inside of him. Their small group was travelling directly through the Grounds, aiming to hit the exit of the western trade road where it left the Deep Green and ran onwards to Horizon, tiny ships sailing across an unending sea of pale sere brown.

Tom couldn’t believe this set back. Or perhaps the problem was that it was all too believable: Wayrest’s nobles playing stupid games with the fate of entire fortress cities on the line -again. He was furious.

He swore once he returned he was going to kill his father out of hand. They could not afford any delays. Even a small one could mean the Bloody Monks being defeated, and Wayrest then being unable to stop the Proving Grounds infestation until they eventually destroyed Wayrest sooner or later too.

Rosa picked up on his frustration, but didn’t try to mollify him. She was probably nearly as angry as he was. Darius, always positive but ever ready for violence, gleefully fed into their anger. He could not conceive of anyone trying to delay action against such creatures as orcs, especially when it had already been promised. Whoever was on the receiving end of their wrath was wholly deserving of it, as far as the healer was concerned. That it was Tom’s father made no difference to him. Familial ties were always subordinate to faith in Goddess for the monks.

There was nothing to be done about it currently. Tom trusted that whatever schemes the nobles were cooking up could be at least countered by General Steel until their group arrived and lent their weight, the weight of Horizon and its need, to the equation. Whether or not it would have any effect remained to be seen, but such things were easier to ignore when they were not right in front of you.

Their group was mostly surly and silent as they travelled. Tom and Rosa were brooding about the situation at home, and all of them had just come through a harrowing experience scouting the Proving Grounds orcs. Though they were all physically recovered, such things took time to move past.

There were eleven of them in total, Tom and Rosa and nine monks. All of them had familiar mounts. Three besides Rosa had horses, a common familiar the world over, but especially so in Horizon. One of the horses was ghost-aspected, and was barely visible the majority of the time. Another monk had a bull familiar, which was surprisingly fast despite its huge bulk.

One large man had an ostrich familiar. Its spindly legs had no trouble carrying the man, but it made for a humorous sight. Another woman had a paired familiar like Sus and Sol, the first other one Tom had encountered. Her familiar was two wolves, both red of coat and relatively slight of build. The woman was fairly slender herself, managing her mounts’ stamina by swapping between them every so often. A huge brown stag high-stepped alongside them, showcasing its agility at every opportunity. Its summoner, an older woman with a permanent scowl, seemed to enjoy its antics.

The last two familiars were the strangest: a soil sprite and a grass golem. Sprites and golems were extremely rare as familiars. Tom had seen one Guard in Wayrest with a rock golem familiar, and knew of another with a river sprite, and another with a leaf sprite.

Sprite familiars often had incredible utility abilities and golems were usually better in direct combat. Here, though, they were fairly balanced.

Sprites were usually mostly incorporeal, depending on the exact element. The soil sprite, being an expression of a solid element, had a solid physical form that allowed its summoner to surf along on top of it.

Golems were usually much further towards the corporeal end of the scale. Wind, obviously, was an incorporeal element, though. The wind golem, unlike its sprite cousins, was much more physically present, but a solid representation of wind was still relatively ephemeral. The summoner, with his Ideal of Wind, managed to ride it by making himself lighter.

Tom was fascinated by the display, but the Idealists with the sprite and golem were particularly surly. Tom got the impression that neither of them enjoyed their familiars. The monks disdained all mana beasts, but sprites and golems were sentient expressions of their elements, and thus were deserving of extra ire.

For those two Idealists, their familiars were purely tools to be used. It made Tom a little sad. Both were incredible, as far as he was concerned. The Wind Idealist even went as far to say that he wished he’d manifested Flight instead, so he could do without the golem entirely. Tom just shrugged, but he scoffed internally. Flight was a stupidly rare Ideal, and even if the man had manifested it, he was just as likely to have ended up with a wind golem familiar.

Tom used these thoughts to distract himself during the quieter parts of their journey, but overall, that time was short. They were travelling through the Proving Grounds directly, and that meant the beasts were stronger and more numerous.

They fought multiple times a day, but for the most part, they had an easy enough time of it. Between the monks’ experience in the Grounds, Tom’s growing proficiency with Hunter-Gatherer, and Rosa’s control skill, they were always well warned of any ambushes. After the running battle away from the orc camp, the random, periodic attacks by handfuls of creatures seemed almost trivial. The group dealt with them contemptuously, barely even slowing, let alone stopping.

Twice Tom spotted orc hunting parties on their journey through the vast plains. Each time, he notified the group, and each time they unanimously voted to detour and eliminate them.

Both parties were only about ten orcs strong. The first party required them to angle northwards for a few hours. The orcs didn’t see them until they were almost right on top of them. On their eclectic collection of mounts, they rode the orcs down and then continued on their route.

The next encounter was more difficult. They had spotted orcs to the south of them, heading in the same direction. They deviated from their path, intent on destroying them.

Something prickled at Tom’s mind all of a sudden as they were closing on them. There had been a small change in the orc’s behaviour.

“They know we’re coming,” he called out to the group.

“Good!” called a monk, and overtop of them, the surly woman on the stag asked, “What difference does it make?”

“They can’t have spotted us themselves!” Tom explained, casting about them with his senses. “Watch out-”

He cursed and was cut off by a grass shark, hidden beneath the swaying long grass, leaping towards the monk on the stag. She had been distracted by Tom, and wasn’t ready for the storm of green blade-like energy it erupted with as it pounced. Her stag, nimble on its feet, tried to dance sideways, but it was too slow.

Darius’ blue shield flared to life, absorbing the green blades but shattering as the grass shark itself hit it. Tom cast Wild Boar Strike on it, flinging it back into the long grass, but a commotion behind him drew his attention through his owls.

More sharks were leaping from the grasses. Sus and Sol could pick out the telltale movements now that they had sprung their ambush. There was a solid pack here, at least ten.

Tom cast his attention to the orcs, knowing what he would find. Sure enough, they had turned back, already closing the gap. True to their nature they didn’t seem in any particular rush, however.

He had no more time to think. A grass shark was leaping through the air towards him, their trademark green blades already tearing apart the space between them.

Sesame wheeled to meet it, hunkering down with his shoulders and protecting his vulnerable parts. Tom braced himself. He knew he could survive this, but it wouldn’t be pretty. He cast Agony and Misery on the beast, and then the impact came.

Green blades impacted his armour all over, shattering against the enchanted plates. Sesame was likewise inundated, his barding flashing as it worked to disperse the energy of the attack.

The Misery link pulsed, sending damage back down it to the shark. Grit, Echo and Whisper took the edge off; Echo manifesting barely visible blades to strike back and Whisper sticking multiple tags to the flying shark.

Now, Tom and Sesame thought at each other simultaneously, and together, they rose.

Sesame reared up in the instant between the blades landing and the grass shark itself hitting them. Tom stood in his stirrups, levelling his spear at the shark’s softer underbelly. He flooded his spear with Suffering mana. Pink lightning crackled down its length.

The spear impaled the shark below its neck and slowed its momentum. Sesame grappled its lower body, weathering the raking claws of its lower legs and the stabbing of its tail with the impunity of a mountain.

There was a long moment where bear and rider and shark hung suspended, and then Tom and Sesame fell forwards.

The shark ended up beneath them, and that quickly proved the end of it. Tom immediately looked for Rosa, and found her standing tall in the centre of their group, pincushioning sharks with her bow.

Tom picked another still being fought, cast Agony on it again, but kept an eye out through Sus and Sol, trying to discern if any more were waiting to throw themselves into the fray. After a moment, he decided there were none, and seconds after that they had repelled the attack and finished the sharks.

Of the group, only Rosa and the monk with Wind had not taken any injuries. Tom was the next best off, protected as he was by his enchanted armour, but even so, he still had several deep lacerations where the energy blades had managed to overwhelm the plate in more vulnerable spots. It was a testament to how powerful the ambush attacks of the sharks were that they managed to still damage him through his Whisper Shield and Grit too.

They had a small window of opportunity to regroup. The orc warband was picking up pace, starting to charge, aware now that the sharks had failed to pin them and trying to close the distance before their prey could flee.

They had made a serious miscalculation though: they had just come form an expedition where everyone had been handpicked to resist the orcs’ auras.

Tom felt his speed increase slightly as Rosa flexed her control skill over the group. A light breeze played over them, and their speed increased further. A small chime came from one of the other monks, and Tom noticed an azure tinge covering his feet.

As the warband crashed through the grass towards them, their auras began to overlay on them. In the first instant, Tom felt his speed slow as two, three, then more auras all caught him in their shadow. Then another skill activated, one of the other monk’s, and a strange, discordant buzzing sound rose and jarred against it. Odd distortions showed in the air as whatever skill the monk was using fought the aura.

Then the orcs were on them.

They met their prey with a charge typical to their kind: heavy, slow, brutal. Clubs made from giant lengths of bone or rock were swung in massive arcs. The orcs at the back pivoted, slowing, throwing heavy javelins.

Only two of the javelins were launched. Both passed harmlessly by targets that were much faster than anticipated. The frontline swings of the heavy clubs met the same fate, the Idealists they were aiming for sliding under them, around them, even flipping overtop of the swing in one case.

The backline javelin throwers were cut down, three slumping with arrows jutting from eyes and necks, and another two finding spears of wind suddenly thrust through their chests.

The frontline was cut down moments later. Tom had avoided his swing by casting Wild Boar Strike at the club in an upwards direction, sending it high overtop of him, and then thrusting his spear deep into the orc’s armpit. Sesame mauled the grievously injured orc to death.

The others were dispatched with similar efficiency. Against orcs with no overwhelming advantage in numbers, who hadn’t realised their auras were ineffective, it was child’s play.

They quickly cleaned their weapons and armour, waiting impatiently for some fifteen minutes while Darius recovered his mana and healed them all, and then they were off again.

Tom’s gaze was fixed on the horizon, as though if he tried hard enough, if he could just pour enough anger into it, he could see all the way to Wayrest.