Book 5 - Chapter 33
They would only spend one night back at camp, and then resume their search for Zilly and Brin’s step-brother tomorrow, but Brin made sure to take the time to ask around about the Easterlings. He got very little information because while everyone seemed to have a lot of ideas about them but he had no idea what could be trusted. Even Brin's brief encounter with them told him that much of it was obviously wrong.
"They fear the sunlight."
"The touch of iron poisons them."
"They come from the sea, and cannot live long outside of water."
Much of the rest was impossible to verify, but offered explanations for the things he'd seen.
"They're elves! The warrior caste of the elves. They walk the fae roads and can cross continents in an instant."
"They're children of the sky, conquerors of the moon and planets. They cross our world by the same methods with which they cross the dark seas between the stars."
"They are spirits. Demons, who can only briefly take physical form to bring suffering to the living."
Cati Breckon was scrubbing tables in the Commoner's Camp's public house when the Lance dropped in. She was surprisingly insightful when Brin recounted their fight and listed off some of the theories. "Whatever dimension they travel through, whether it's a fae realm, the spiritual realm, or some strange space for creatures of the void, I think they're alien to it the same way that we are. They travel through, but only the leaders use it with their Skills. That makes it seem like it's something they have to learn, not something that's natural to them. I bet there's an Easterling nation somewhere. Perhaps underground, or across the sea."
Cid knew a bit about them, but mostly standard military doctrine. "They can appear anywhere on Earth without warning, but they usually only appear in contested areas. No man's land, or like here, where several nations are struggling for control of the same place. They love bravery and hate cowardice, which is why it's a standard tactic to have a small group of quick riders flee the area. They'll always split their force to pursue, even if they have no chance of catching up. If the ones that stand their ground put up a worthy fight, you'll gain their respect and they'll leave."
"That almost sounds honorable," said Brin.
"They're surprisingly honorable, in their own way. Perhaps not honor; let's say they are rule-followers. I heard a tale where they destroyed an entire village, slaughtering everyone including children and animals, except they left a single quarter acre of newly planted orchard alone. The owner left a sign that said, "Please stay off the saplings" and they respected it."
"Couldn't we put up a sign that says 'No Easterlings allowed'?" asked Brin.
"I don't think they call themselves Easterlings. I don't think anyone knows what they call themselves," said Cid. "If it was that simple... someone would've tried it, right?"
Brin didn’t have an answer for that.
The next day, they were sent out on another patrol, and knowing what was in store, they prepared the best they could. There wasn’t any more food available than the last time, but they made sure to take a double ration of water. That, at least, was still plentiful. Brin had long since optimized the space in his storage room. It didn’t make sense to keep a backup weapon in there anymore since the Bog Standard spear and the shield he’d gotten from Kartoff worked for everything he needed, which left more room for consumables. Sion had helped him source a bunch of paper balls full of powder that would explode when thrown. They were much lighter than exploding potions, so he could carry ten of them, along with an Eveladis, two mana potions, and an ordinary bottle of water. Experience had taught him that the last one was most important. Sometimes the fighting dragged on for a long time and you couldn’t always get to your supplies guy.
This time when they set out, Brin kept his eyes peeled for more signs of Easterlings, as well as any dangers from Arcaena. The strangers from the east were elusive. The monsters of the Witch Queendom, less so. The Lance joined a group of infantrymen from Olland to beat down a small band of undead only two hours after setting off. By noon, they’d clashed with three bands of Arcaneans, always in groups of ten or twenty.
For every group that the Lance was able to intervene with, ten more were too far away for them to reach in time. Sometimes the allies prevailed and drove back or slaughtered the Arcaenans. More often, the enemy soldiers and undead won and slaughtered the isolated soldiers, but rarely without taking a few losses themselves. At great cost, they were grinding the remnants of the Arcaenean army down.
Brin only alerted his men to the groups that they’d actually be able to reach, and always gave the message to Brych so that he could pretend that he sensed them first. He didn’t know how many [Illusionists] Arcaena had left, but he had to assume that if she had any then she’d spare at least one eye just for him.
When they met up with a band from their side, they always asked what they’d seen and what rumors they’d heard. Often, they heard stories of giant monsters and endless hordes of zombies. Some of them had seen Easterlings, though.
That afternoon after they saved a group of ranged weapon specialists from a band of undead, one red-bearded [Axe Thrower] told Brin, “I know what I saw. He had a human face, and a human figure under that same shiny shell armor.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Brin responded.
Cid was supervising the commoner soldiers as they picked through the fallen undead’s weapons to see if anything was worth taking back to camp, but he was close enough to hear. “No, it’s true. There are humans among their number. As well as other creatures. They don’t respond when spoken to, and we’ve never captured one for interrogation. They appear and disappear as easily as the others.”
“Surely someone has managed to take one alive,” said Brin.
“Our Temple of Eternity might know more. Or your Tower in Frenaria,” said Cid.
They adventured their way across Arcaena for the rest of the day, though there wasn’t any more trouble near enough for them to help in time. When night came, they camped next to a pleasant bubbling brook in the scattered shade of white thin-leafed trees. They woke in the morning to birdsong, and Anwir managed to slay two little partridges that joined their breakfast. It wasn’t more than a mouthful of meat for every man, but each little bit helped.
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As the week of their patrol dragged by, it was more of the same. They didn’t drive straight towards the section of Arcaena that they’d learned Zilly was patrolling; they didn’t want to make it too obvious that was their intention, in case they’d have to explain to command why they’d made a beeline for that area after they returned. Instead, they took a meandering route, always jumping in to help any of the wandering allied patrols.
Often, the patrols asked for any spare food the “rich” [Knights] must have, and they declined each time. Cowl rationed their supplies carefully, so they’d have enough to finish the week, but it never felt like enough. Hunger was a constant, gnawing annoyance. Often, the soldiers asked for medical assistance, and though they did whatever they could, Brin didn’t have a magic potion to make limbs grow back. He couldn’t even help much with the infections that set in with wounds taken from undead weapons, but they did whatever they could.
He started to dread whenever an allied group ran into trouble near enough to them that they could help, not because he didn’t want to help defeat their attackers, but because of the pleas for aid that always followed it. There wasn’t enough of anything to go around, and the Lance sometimes departed to the sound of angry, reproachful muttering. All three nations respected [Knights] enough that no one went so far as to insult or spit on them, but it was clear that the commoners felt they should be able to give them more.
More often than not, the commoner soldiers who ran into enemy ambushes were far outside of the Lance’s ability to respond, and they prevailed or died on their own merits. Brin tried to see each loss as a real loss, and not as fewer mouths to feed.
On the third day, they found a beast. It was a large bird that ran on long legs on the ground. It was half as tall as a man, with a knife-edged beak. It took off running the opposite direction when the Lance came near.
It was nearly as fast as their great horses, and at first Brin thought they might have lost their shot because Cid certainly wouldn’t let them run the horses to exhaustion. Brych rode around from the other side to hem it in, and eventually they managed to draw it close enough that Anwir could take it down with an arrow.
“A problem remains,” Cid said when the hungry Lance were surrounding the kill. “The rules of the Order dictate that I cannot allow a campfire. We fought two engagements today, and hidden enemies might be close.”
They might be close, but Brin would see them if they popped up from underground and tried to attack. But the job of the Second wasn’t to argue. “Maybe I have another solution.”
He had Cowl carve off a section of meat from the breast and placed it on a cast iron pan. Then he searched his Lightmind for a spell he’d often theorized was possible but that he hadn’t figured out on his own yet. It even translated to the same name it had on Earth.
He cast Microwave. The spell had no immediate effect, so he upped its power draw until he saw faint changes in the color of the meat to show it was being heated. He watched, as slowly, the bird transformed from fleshy pink to white. It heated unevenly, so he added a few more and cycled them in a circle to affect all the meat at the same time. A smell rose, a bit sour, but still recognizable as food that made his stomach both growl and twist in disgust. After five minutes of heating, the morsel was ready to eat.
Cid picked it up in armored fingers, blew on it, and then took a bite. He gulped heavily. “I’ll authorize a fire just this once.”
They passed around the bit of microwaved bird, each taking a bite and then theatrically describing how awful it was. Brin tried a piece, and while yes, it wasn’t very good, a lot of that had to be because the bird had a natural sour taste. He was sure this was still going to become a running joke. Brych refused to take even a bite, claiming that the smell was enough, and panned Brin worst of all.
When Cowl finished a brothy stew with the meat, Brin was sure he was going to be validated because if microwaving it was bad, boiling it was sure to be even worse. Sadly, Cowl’s stew was a masterpiece. The meat was savory and soft, and somehow he’d added a sweetness and spiciness that turned the bird’s sour flavor into something beautiful.
The Lance went to bed that night with a full belly for the first time in what felt like years.
On the fourth day, they reached the area that Davi had claimed Zilly was assigned to patrol. There was no sign of her. It was difficult to be sure she wasn’t there, because Brin’s eyes couldn’t watch everything at once. Cid decided to venture deeper, and keep looking.
This area of Arcaena was more like Prinnash, with lots of flat plains. Except for what looked like plains were often labyrinths of small waist-high canyons that made horseback movement treacherous. They took to walking alongside their horses to be able to respond quickly to any misplaced hooves.
A large part of Brin’s knightly training had been on horse-holds. They’d learned how and where to grab a horse to lift them safely. The fact that it was assumed that any [Knight] would be able to lift a horse was still jarring to Brin’s sensibilities, but of course it was correct. Maybe back when their Lance was split between some common Classes this would be a problem, but since they’d all become [Knights] it was only natural.
They didn’t face any danger that day, and there were few patrols out that far. One of the few he did find, a mixed group of fifty heavy armor and archers, were attacked by another group of thirty Easterlings.
They were much too far away for the Lance to help, so Brin could only watch passively. This group of Easterlings were more varied. They had the riders that the Lance had fought, as well as a huge ogre with six eyes and four arms. He wore the same blue shells as the insectoid Easterlings, but it was clearly armor on him where it was natural body parts on the bugmen. Along with the riders, there were ten spear-wielders walking on foot. Their weapons were elegant and strange, with loopy whorling patterns built into the handles.
The Easterlings killed thirty of the allies before they were driven back, losing only ten of their number.
Brin raged that the Easterlings seemed to be killing so many of the allies while leaving the Arcaeneans alone, but when the Easterlings fled, they reappeared a half mile away and stabbed at the ground. A group of undead had been hiding just under the surface, ready to ambush the wounded allies. The Easterlings slaughtered them all, and then disappeared again.
They searched around for two more days. On the morning of the eighth day of their patrol, Cowl announced, “We’re out of food.”
“Completely out?” Cid asked.
Cowl produced two dinner-roll-sized loaves of bread, and a stick of jerky the size of a finger. “Enough for one more meal.”
“We’ll save it until we’re truly desperate, then. We’ll begin the journey back immediately.” Cid didn’t meet Brin’s eye when he said it, but Brin didn’t resent him for the decision. He completely understood. Yeah, he’d like to see Zilly again, but the Lance had already done more than enough.
The travel was slow, the ground was still treacherous, and worse, there was no water to be found. They saw empty streams, and areas where water would pool when it rained, but until that happened, everything was dry. All the water they did carry would need to be saved for the horses.
When they got out of these canyons they’d go quicker. It would be fine to run the horses a little faster once water was plentiful again. After all, there was plenty of good grazing, so the horses weren’t hungry. Until then, they walked step by step across the treacherous ground, carefully watching out for their horses.
The sun hadn’t yet crested in the sky when Brin saw something with an Invisible Eye. A group of thirty undead were stationary in the shadow of a hill, no doubt waiting until nightfall to travel again. Half were the regular undead soldiers, but half were the armored elites.
Just one of those things had given Govannon a great deal of trouble at the start of their last patrol, and this group had fifteen of the things. It wasn’t a great match-up for the Lance. But it was a worse match-up for anyone else. The smart thing to do would be to go back and look for another Lance, or band together with a large number of commoner soldiers. But there wasn’t any other Lance in sight, and they wouldn’t be able to get enough allies before nightfall to make a difference. If they took more than a day to gather more allies, he wasn’t sure that would actually be a benefit, not if it meant the Lance was another day hungrier. They would be at their freshest right now.
Luckily, it wasn’t his decision to make. He told his finding to the Prime.
Cid didn’t hesitate. “We’ll face them. Lead the way.”