Chapter 238 - More Steps on the Long Path

Mirian refined her early route, practicing both her efficient conversion of soul energy into mana and efficiency in binding myrvite souls for use. With greater efficiencies, she could speed up her accelerated levitation, cutting hours off her travel. She now retrieved supplies from Mahatan, deposited them in Torrviol, then headed north to grab her father. Instead of moving back south, she now had them fly north to Alkazaria. She could then open that Gate, bringing them to Palendurio. From there, they could grab mana elixirs and magichemicals needed for research, then Gaius could take them north by train while Mirian got off at Cairnmouth and returned to Torrviol to prepare the research effort.

With each iteration, she practiced getting more and more people to join the building or research efforts. Xipuatl could help Viridian with spirit constructs. Nicolus was useful for heading down to Cairnmouth to procure more shipments of magical materials, while Calisto could arrange shipments of live myrvites from her father’s guild.

That wasn’t all. Plenty of older students could be used as research assistants, or used to help the skilled artisans of Torrviol as they expanded the Myrvite Studies building or assembled artifacts or enchanted material in Akanan-style assembly lines. Within a few weeks, Torrviol was completely transformed.

Mirian didn’t spend all her time in the Labyrinth. Whenever there was a breakthrough on a new spell that was possible through a tri-bonded sequence, she ceased her exploration and worked on that. Gaius continued to teach her about the energy transmutation enchantments he used in his mummy soldiers, which led to her completely scrapping her old designs for the leyline regulators.

One of the biggest problems in dealing with a leyline was the sheer amount of energy involved. In one of her meetings with the professors, Mirian explained her reasoning: “We can create sequences of inefficient transmutation. Then, arcane energy can be both defused and put to work. Some will be released as heat, some as light, some as sound, some as electricity, and so on. That reduces how robust the materials we’re using need to be.”

Then, she made another connection. Both she, Xecatl, and Gabriel had located Elder relics in the Vaults that had special properties or could manipulate energy. In two cases, there were relics capable of absorbing an enormous amount of a given energy type. The one she’d found in the Frostland’s Vault could absorb heat, for example. Gabriel’s could regulate electricity.

Mirian became quite good at delivering concise lectures to both professors and apprentices. “Each leyline regulator can be designed around an Elder absorption device, including theoretical relics we haven’t found yet. Professor Xidi will be teaching a series of classes on energy transmutation. Then, teams will break off into groups and design devices or segments of the devices independently, before coming back together to collaborate and review each other’s designs. I’ve arranged teams in a way to produce different outputs each cycle, so please do not rearrange the teams,” she announced at the end of one lecture.

When she and her father weren’t monitoring research, she was in the Labyrinth with him, carving through horrors and abominations. By the fifth cycle of this, they’d cleared the fourth level for miles around Torrviol and were moving deep into the fifth level.

The first prize they found was an econode. Strangely enough, it was a desert node, some three square miles, absolutely full of chimeras, drakes, and manticores.

“Where do they get all their food from?” Mirian asked as they explored it.

Gaius shrugged. “My best guess is they must be able to eat the labyrinthine horrors. That might explain why most of the dens are next to the entrances.”

The econode acted as the perfect place to replenish mana and soul energy. Then they moved on.

Another cycle passed. Jherica reported Xecatl’s progress on a spirit construct designed to transmute energy and drain leyline energy. Ceiba Yan was attempting to grow his roots around the Labyrinth. Expeditions of diviners continued to search for a Gate in Tlaxhuaco, to no avail. 

Mirian began to take language lessons from Song Jei. She already knew a few words from the exercises Jei had taught her some twenty years ago. It wasn’t much of a foundation. Gulwenen proved to be a difficult language to learn, and her progress was slow.

Gabriel reported making another attempt to take Sanctuary Road through the Jiandzhi to Zhighua, but had gotten eaten and was pissed about it. Liuan reported another sighting of Scebur’s agent, out in Westshire of all places. The far west of Akana Praediar had little industry, and was time consuming to navigate. There was also no sign at all of Gates out that far. Mirian couldn’t make heads or tails of what Scebur would be doing over there. Her best guess was that it was a distraction, designed to pull Liuan out of place while Scebur did something in eastern Akana, and she told Liuan as much. Liuan replied with a snippy letter saying she already knew that.

Ibrahim remained missing. 

Mirian’s efforts in Torrviol now involved moving a great deal of gold and material around, to the point where it was having an influence on the politics and economics of western Baracuel. Merchant investors would often show up, as would Crown Investigators looking for fraud. However, by the time they showed up, Mirian’s forged bank papers had already been sent into circulation in Cairnmouth or Palendurio, and untangling her fraud would take longer than the investigators had. 

As for the religious ramifications, Pontiff Oculo was caught up in General Corrmier’s coup plot. Two months was still too fast for the Luminate Order to make a decision on declaring a Prophet, especially one who seemed content to muck about in a remote town. Most of the time, a delegation of priests and bishops made their way up to Torrviol, but arrived near the end of Duala, too late to do much. She could tell that the longer the cycles went, the more she’d have to care about what Palendurio and Alkazaria were doing. For now, she could ignore them.

At night, her dreams were full of the Ominian’s thoughts. Finally, she dreamed of the Mausoleum again.

***

When the dream came, Mirian was ready. First, she checked the Ominian, sitting on Their throne. There were still two temporal anchors. The first was Troytin’s. She still didn’t know where the second one had come from.

She turned and quickly made her way to the colossal doors at the front of the Mausoleum. Mentally, she pushed them open. Above the Mausoleum was another Gate, she knew, but that wasn’t what she was interested in this time. No, she wanted to see what had been left behind. The last Triarchs of the Persaman Empire had done something to this chunk of Mayat Shadr. It was connected to the destruction of the city, and the things that had risen up high above Enteria with the city had stayed there for centuries.

When she’d last dreamed of this place, she’d been focused on looking out over the planet. Now, she went to where necromancer-priests had fallen.

Most of the runes and glyphs on their scepters and robes were dull, any lingering arcane energy long since extinguished. The solidified forms of the glyphs were still there, so their magic could be recreated. As Mirian looked through the glyphs, though, there was nothing that looked particularly useful. She noted heavy use of myrvite bones in the construction of the priestly armor, and the form was reminiscent of a rib cage.

Curious. Endresen’s research on mana flow seems to suggest that form is one of the more efficient ways to move high amounts of arcane energy. Perhaps they stumbled upon it. It was, she had to admit, a rather wicked looking aesthetic.

She made her way over to a dais. There were the remnants of massive runes scribed into the stone. One sequence seemed to circle around the entire Mausoleum. The other thing that was everywhere was the bones. They lay in giant heaps. Thousands and thousands of them. A sick feeling churned in her. Something terrible happened here.

At the dais, the corpses were more finely decorated. The robes had become sun-bleached, but she could still make out the embroidery and faded glyphs.

In the center of a ritual circle was what could only be the Triarchs. There were three of them, each wearing armor that still glittered white-silver in the light. Mythril, she knew. How many souls did it take to make so much mythril? The regulator-armor she was designing would need a lot of mythril. This would be everything I need. I would just need to reforge it. She looked down at one of the ornate scepters clutched in a skeletal hand. The runes they’d used had also faded, but the imprints and trace magichemicals left over might be enough to learn new runes. Worth retrieving and studying, she thought.

She looked around at the vast numbers of runes and glyphs that had been deployed. If we can find out what they were doing, it could help solve the crisis. 

Mirian was about to move on when she sensed something. She stopped and looked back. Not all the scepters were identical. One of them still had some sort of active magic; she could feel it, the faintest prickle of her arcane sense. Interesting that still works here. She bent over, putting a hand out towards the Triarch’s scepter. She’d studied the old Persaman scepter Torres had, and she’d seen a few in her father’s collection. She knew how to disassemble them. Her arm flickered with black and white energy. She wasn’t really here; it was some sort of soul projection. Still, if she could open doors…

Mirian closed her eyes, then used a burst of raw magic to hit the scepter in the release point. The top of it clicked open, revealing the catalyst.

If she could breathe here, her breath would have caught. The catalyst shone with unreal light, seemingly both indigo and orange at the same time, with colors the mind couldn’t parse. Not just any catalyst. The catalyst of a myrvite titan. The cataclysm beast slain by the First Prophet.

It had lain here, all this time. A catalyst even more potent than the one that she’d taken from Apophagorga.

***

The next morning, Gaius found Mirian scribbling down notes while she clacked around with an abacus. 

“These aren’t for the Labyrinth,” he said, glancing over them. “Or your usual artifice.”

“No, it’s for another project.”

“Well, you can hit these numbers on a heat shield spell easily. But what in the Gods name do you need that kind of horizontal levitation speed for though?”

“It might be the better option.”

Gaius made a face as he looked her other notes. “This sheet has you levitating upward at maximum speed for ten hours. Where are you trying to go, the bloody m—oh.”

“Precisely,” Mirian said.

“I see.” Her father seemed at a loss for words. “Could an airship help? I’ll admit, I don’t really know much about these new… spell engines.”

Mirian grimaced. Spell engines had been around for two hundred years, and widespread for a hundred. “No. The spell engines use most of the fuel for force propulsion. The levitation mostly just keeps them aloft, and the way the conduits are designed mean it isn’t much good for sustained rapid ascent. Possibly, a new engine could be built in one of Tyrcast’s factories… but from my conversations with the Akanans a few years back, retooling a factory takes quite a bit of time. I could, perhaps, build a Baracueli airship spell engine in time, but the Akanan ones are a lot more complex. Then there’s the issue of fuel, and how more of it weighs more, so you need more to deal with the extra weight, and so on and so forth,” she said, gesturing at another pile of calculations.

Gaius frowned. “The third solution looks like the most realistic one, then. I’d guess… you’d need 160 myr at a minimum. Possibly 170. You’d still want to start at height on an airship. And you’d need perfect timing.”

“So it seems. Any more tricks for increasing spell intensity?”

Her father chuckled. “More of what you’ve been doing. You’re still young.” He smiled. “With where you’re at right now, I can’t wait to see where you’ll end up.”

Mirian smiled back at him. He was proud of her. That felt good.

She set the notes aside. “A project for another time then. I feel like we’re getting close to the sixth level. Let’s keep going.”

***

That evening Mirian and Gaius emerged from the Labyrinth, ragged, but intact. They’d discovered a magic suppression field deep in the fifth level, and Mirian had collected samples. As they emerged from the tunnel she’d made by the lake, though, something was wrong. There were strange noises in the night. She heard cracking sounds in the distance.

“What day is it?” she asked suddenly, but she already knew the answer. She set down her satchel of Labyrinth wall fragments.

“Thirdday, the 28th of Solem, if I’m not mistaken. Though I have been known to lose track of the months from time to time. Or years, really. One time, I—” Her father cut himself off as another, louder sound echoed.

“Liuan didn’t prevent the invasion this cycle. Fuck! No one’s prepared. I didn’t form a militia or even—fuck!” She turned to Gaius. “It’s an Akanan army group. Focus on the artillery. I’ll destroy the airships.”

Her father’s face grew grim. “We’re low on soul energy and mana. You know what that means.”

“I do,” Mirian said. “They’ll massacre the entire town and blow the Gate if we don’t stop them. No mercy.”

“Very well,” he said.

Together, they ascended. Gaius cast his black shield and headed north as Mirian aimed for Torrian Tower.

** *** **

Marshal Emera Cearsia stood at the bridge of the Might of Liberty, hands clasped behind her back, the closest thing to a smile she ever got on her face. The invasion was going smoothly. Not that she expected much else. The Baracueli vermin seemed to think that Akana didn’t know about the terrible Elder weapon they’d discovered under Torrviol.

“Load earthshaker shells in the forward batteries. If the special artillery unit doesn’t take out that tower, we’ll follow up with our own volley. That tower is the nexus of their genocidal experiments. I want it ash do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” came a chorus of voices. The bridge was full of chatter as her orders were relayed.

“Observation reports a slight misalignment. Recommends course correction of three degrees starboard.”

“Correcting course. Adjusting course three degrees starboard,” her navigation captain said.

A moment later, a glyph on a communications console lit up. “Marshal, forward batteries report earthshaker shells are loaded. Observation reports an uncontested advance on all axes. Special artillery is in position and will be firing shortly. No changes on the timetables.”

Officer Troytin approached. “We finally received a report from one of our agents. He reports there is no Baracueli division incoming by train, as was expected.”

Cearsia frowned at the young officer’s report. That was unfortunate. She’d hoped they would be able to pin and annihilate the Fort Aegrimere Division in a moment of vulnerability. Having to deal with them behind their fortifications in Cairnmouth would be more annoying. They’d lost contact with most of their agents in Torrviol a few weeks back, which indicated Baracuel must have had some inkling as to what was coming. And yet, they were ceding their most powerful weapon uncontested. Something wasn’t adding up.

She could figure that out later. One didn’t hesitate in war.

“Very well. Accelerate the advance, then. The faster we secure the objective, the better.”

Operations continued. Then, she noticed one of her officers looking puzzled. “Repeat last message,” the officer said. Then, looking at Cearsia, she said, “Republic’s Justice reports… the special artillery attack appears to have been blocked. Some sort of shield that appeared in front of Torrian Tower.”

“Impossible,” said one of the munitions officers. “They were using spellpiercer ammunition. That should have cleaved right through the enchantments.”

Cearsia didn’t hesitate. “Then bring Might of Liberty into position. Navigation, implement Route 3. Fire control, hold all fire on the tracks.” That couldn’t have been Medius, could it?

They continued forward. The distant echo of artillery fire carried across the evening. Then, the communications officer’s eyes grew wide. “Starboard observation reports… please repeat. Repeat.” The officer’s face went white. “Ob-observation r-reports… it’s unclear. But we just lost a lot of people. The 5th Artillery Regiment appears to be… dead.”

Marshal Cearsia snapped her head in the officer’s direction. “What!?”

Suddenly, all the consoles’ communication glyphs started going active. Emergency priority communications.

“Reports of mass casualties from the 12th Artillery—”

“—the 2nd Mechanized Brigade hit hard. Reporting dozens of casualties. Suspected necromancy spells.”

“Observers reporting emergency flares along the northwest axis—”

“—17th Artillery is requesting immediate support! Enemy spellcasters are—”

“Sir, the Republic’s Justice is reporting emergency flares going up across the—”

Cearsia felt a chill run down her spine. “How many attackers?”

“We don’t know.”

The Marshal turned to climb up the top observation post, shoving aside the observer and casting her own lens spells to survey the battlefield. She peered down. She heard distant gunfire echoing up from the ground. If there were high powered enemy spellcasters or artillery firing back at her forces though, there should be explosions. Where are the explosions?

She caught sight of an intact regiment moving towards the north of the town. Suddenly, there was a mess of black lines cutting through the ranks. She could hear the blood-curdling screams even above the roar of the wind whipping by. A black sphere of some sort passed by a moment later, but by the time it did, she could see no movement where the regiment had been. She tried to replay the moment. The regiment had auramancers and spellshield engines. They hadn’t done anything.

More screams echoed up, and as she swiveled to aim her lens spell at another regiment, she saw it was being devastated just as quickly. She caught sight of one of the auramancers turning black, his flesh disintegrating. As he died, all the people around him screamed and collapsed to the ground.

The chill in her bones deepened. “What in the five hells is happening?” she whispered.

That was when she heard an explosion—this one off the port side. She whirled, just in time to see a bright beam pierce the deck of the Republic’s Justice, smoke and fire pouring from the hole.

The Marshal hit the glyph relay and sent to the bridge, “Prepare emergency repair teams to board the Justice by skiff—they’re—Oh God.”

The dreadnought airship suddenly dropped out of the sky, the massive steel bulk slamming into the ground a moment later. There was a bone-chilling rumble, then another explosion, this one sounding like the sky had ripped open. Cearsia gaped at it, her mind reeling. She prided herself on nothing breaking her composure, but this—this was impossible. Even if a team of archmages had boarded the Republic’s Justice, there should have at least been a fight. If Medius Luspire—that faithless prick—was fighting… but he couldn’t manage what had just happened. Her mind reeled.

“—Marshal? Marshal Cearsia? Sir? Bridge to Marshal Cearsia, your last communication cut out. Awaiting confirmation of—”

“Belay that last order,” she whispered hoarsely. “Activate all security. Switch onboard assault teams to defensive posture.” As she spoke into the remote voice spell engine, her eye caught a faint distortion of light, moving fast towards the ship. One of the doors leading down to the hull burst from its hinges, spinning off overboard. Her heart started hammering. “Secure the engine room!” she said, starting to connect the dots. “Full lockdown! All security teams, all assault teams, defend the engine room, now!”

She scrambled back down the ladder to the bridge, and had just reached the bottom when the first explosion rocked the ship. The bridge had become chaos. Reports kept coming in of casualties in the army below. People were dropping dead a hundred at a time, and from the reports, it sounded like soul damage. A brigade of God-cursed necromancers. How deep has Baracuel’s sin gone? she wondered. But there wasn’t time.

“Captain Markus, you have the helm. Security, with me!” Cearsia said, levitating her spellbook in her hand as she rushed for an entrance to the lower decks.

There was another explosion, and another. Then, a powerful beam spell pierced the deck, burning bright enough she had to throw a hand across her eyes.

Then, there was a tremor, and her stomach lurched as suddenly the airship began to drop. A figure shot up from the hole in the deck and into the sky. The woman who had emerged glanced back, and all Cearsia could see were eyes of blazing silver light.

“Ominian save us,” she whispered. There was a terrible silence, and then the Might of Liberty hit the ground.

** *** **

Mirian looked down at the carnage with disgust. She cast her amplify voice spell, enhanced for maximum intensity. She spoke in Eskinar to the scattered army below. “Akanans! You stand against a Prophet of the Ominian. Your leaders have lied to you. I will not. Flee, and your lives will be spared. Continue fighting, and you will die.”

She hovered above Torrian Tower, prismatic shield glimmering in the twilight. Just west of town, the two Akanan dreadnoughts burned. Several buildings in Torrviol had collapsed from the resulting quakes.

With her detect life, she surveyed the battlefield. A squad of Akanans was still wildly firing down by Bainrose. She snuffed them out with a few disintegration beam spells, then looked around again. Most Akanans were beating a terrified retreat. 

Mirian started flying around. If anyone fired on her, she killed them. By the end of the hour, no one was firing at her anymore.

She met Gaius in Bainrose Plaza.

“They’re fleeing west. I’ll spend tonight organizing a militia so that we don’t get any more surprises. We’ll cut the train tracks to Cairnmouth later, though I doubt the Akanans will come up from that way.” She sighed. “We headed off the worst of the attack, but the Myrvite Studies building and Torrian Tower took some hits. Hopefully, that doesn’t set back the research too much.”

She looked down, her detect life spell catching glimpses of human souls below. “Oh, great. Akanan squads are still running around in the underground. Can you take care of them?”

“Of course,” her father said. “Only… I don’t actually know how to get down there. The only passage I know about is the one we carved out near the lake.”

“Right.” She gave another heavy sigh. “I’ll show you the one by the theater. Then, make your way up north to Bainrose.”

“This might be a good opportunity to show you a form of necromancy we’ve been unable to practice,” Gaius said as they flew southeast.

“Sure,” Mirian said. What a headache, she thought. She was dreading how much time it would take to assess the damage the Akanans had done to her projects—and to her people. She’d have some words with Liuan about this. But Jherica didn’t warn me either, and this was one of their Akana cycles. Yet another thing to take care of.

Behind them, black smoke belched into the air, and the snow was covered in blood.