BECMI Chapter 341 – The Dracologist
“My Khan!” Elder Chogogai, thoroughly suppressed and unwilling to dare my words, attempted to redirect attention. His eyes were on the distance behind me, looking at something in the sky.
I didn’t look around, because I didn’t have to. “Prince von Jaggenfel, if you are approaching to Cast a spell and rile up the Tukhman to charge to their deaths, you will be annoying me. I will detonate the unstable power source of that Mark VII Endoski Heavy Particle Beamer you are carrying so recklessly at your side, turning you and your mount into superheated ash in the sky, and your clone can ask how you died.”
Pegasi and rider in the far sky abruptly checked themselves. Pegasi were intelligent and didn’t want to get blasted to bloodsteam, apparently.
The Message was quick in coming, and I replicated it aloud for everyone to hear. “You haf no authority to negotiate on behalf of Zanzyr, Lady Edge!” the guttural voice of the Grand Marshal of Zanzyr’s voice spoke out of the air, properly incensed that I was butting in on his glorious chance to show off his martial talents.
“I am a duly appointed envoy of Princess Brittabelle, and am fully empowered to negotiate matters of trade and diplomacy on her behalf, Prince von Jaggenfel.” Not to mention I was a ruler of my own up north, but I wasn’t going to bring that up at the moment. I could certainly represent myself! “If you would like to wait for Prince Denaelu to show up in his official capacity as Envoy of the Council to resolve who has the greater authority, that is fine. In the meantime, I am going to win this battle without shooting another arrow. You might wish to take notes for your great study of the arts of war.”
That didn’t make me any friends, but he wasn’t empowered to issue declarations of war or do more than accept surrenders from an enemy. If he wanted to start a fight here, I couldn’t stop him, but his soldiers weren’t going to be happy if he started a fight I’d already won… and wizards had ways of making their displeasure known, even if they were relative scrubs.
He was aware of morale and its implications, and even if he was incensed that I was butting in on his moment of glory, he wasn’t going to risk pissing off both Brittabelle and myself.
I had that ungodly high score from graduating and had been doing all that stuff up north. Who knew how powerful I actually was? I certainly wasn’t afraid of his Dracology.
He opted to watch from the far distance, eyeing the thousands of nomad Tukhman riders in that dark line extending across the pass, not advancing an inch past my sun umbrella and little tea party. He stewed out there, unable to release his mighty spells and showcase his power.
I hadn’t turned once to look back at him. The three males opposite me tried to hide how impressed they were at just dismissing the glory-hungry Grand Marshal like that.
“Warriors,” I stated evenly, “there are things going on inside Zanzyr, without the approval of its patron Immortal.” They all blinked. “Yes, Zanzyr has a Patron Immortal. Those Temples of Thaum are real things, and so is the power behind it. The fact He has no Clerics is by His choice, and His choice alone. If you attack Zanzyr, you are indeed pissing off an Immortal’s direct pet project, and I don’t think I have to tell you how long you are for the world if that happens.
“That’s a lie, of course.”
The shaman promptly bled out the nose again before he could say anything, coughing and spitting. I eyed him coldly.
“He’s not one of your old gods. He’s a god of wizards, and wizards alone, Elder. You can’t propitiate him to be nice if you invade His people. Zanzyr is His chosen land, and just looking at its history, and the fact they could drive all Clerics out of that land, shows you how directly He is involved in it.
“You’re messing with the personal kingdom of an Immortal. You may not like it, but that is the way it is.”
Even the Khan looked unsettled at that revelation. He had been assured the temples to Thaum were just buildings without power, but it made sense for a god of wizards to have no Clerics, didn’t it?
He wasn’t a god of MAGIC, after all. And why would a god want followers of other gods living in his home, really?
“Now, I don’t want to butcher you all, but if you insist on advancing, that’s what I’ll do. Worse, I’ll do it by you killing one another, since you already have the plague. You’ll be trapped here, and die in this path to the plague you’ve brought here, coughing out your lungs because you don’t have enough Priests to Heal the infected, and maybe a twentieth or less of you are going to make it home… and that’s if the Zanzyran army back there doesn’t roll up in three days when half your army is starting to hack up blood and just burn you down.
“Go home, great Khan. There will be no great and glorious battle, dying with the blood of your foe on your blade and a smile on your lips. There will be screaming, and flames, and then sick, choking coughs in the night as you drown in your blood and rot from the inside out. Yeggtru’s plague is very good at what it does on this ground.”
“You are aware that, even if certain death awaits them, my men will still advance on my command?” he asked me coldly.
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“Naturally. The Tukhman are renowned for their willingness to defy death. That is, of course, why the Zanzyrans want you to advance. Bravery combined with stupidity is not a blessing, it is a curse that murders the foolish.” I set down my cup, releasing the last of the blue flames from my nose in a gently rising double stream. “I have already told you the consequences of advancing. You have already lost this battle. You have the choice of proceeding and losing your army, or leaving and keeping your army. Foolishness and bravery, or wisdom and patience for another day?
“Zanzyr is having enough internal problems, it doesn’t need you contributing to them with wholesale slaughter, much as you might like. Your short, victorious war is not going to happen here, great Khan.”
“What manner of… problems?” the Khan asked, his voice flat.
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“To put it rather bluntly, the same ones your neighbors to the north recently had. Namely, a fine bunch of fellows got together and decided they didn’t much being lorded over by a bunch of spellcasters, especially ones who practice necromancy. Only in Zanzyr, it’s wizards instead of a goddess of war. So, they are doing what any responsible person does when some magical twat considers them just bodies to be expended for their amusement: they are putting said spellcasters to the sword, and all their obedient minions, too.”
Since that was exactly what had happened to the Teuthonic Order in the Frokki Freeholds, it was a good precedent to make. I could see a lot of the nomads looking north, as they’d heard a lot of what went on, some tribes had tried to take advantage of it, and at least two minor clans had been wiped out in doing so.
“Creators of the undead are an abomination against the gods!” the shaman spluttered, about to launch into a diatribe.
“Except when Clerics of the gods do it?” I interrupted acidly, stopping him mid-tirade with the ice in my voice. “Creating undead is an abomination, full stop. It doesn’t matter who does it, mortals or gods.”
They bristled, partly in fear at such words, partly because of how blunt they were. “That means I would kill you for Animating the corpse of your great Khan here, even if the gods or spirits directed you to do so, Elder Chogogai,” I clarified for him, making his weathered face pale openly.
He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.
“Not bin against Quickening, however, elfin?” Captain Hoofcracker asked sharply, the dwarf reading past my words.
“Restored to life is one thing. Restored to unlife is very, very much another, Captain,” I responded easily. “Alas, the one is done far more easily than the other.”
Even the Khan had to nod at that. He was not unfamiliar with how spellcasters could raise dozens of undead at one time.
“Your father’s home is reputed to be infested with undead,” the Khan commented knowingly.
“My grandfather is Prince Morphail of Transyvia, and he is a daywalking vampire,” I stated in no uncertain terms, although that didn’t carry for three miles. “You have no idea how infested, but it has suffered a remarkable amount of corpse-purging in recent days.”
They looked at one another, the information from their scouts and spies confirmed. “Bin a great time to take advantage of, Lady,” Captain Hoofcracker had to say, and I inclined my head.
“Interrupting those purging hidden armies of undead from the land in the middle of doing so, by creating hundreds, if not thousands more dead for them to replenish their numbers from now that they are revealed and will move to slaughter all of the living that they can. Advantage, you say. Would you say that when a few thousand tireless undead Tukhman come back to the high plains and run down without food or fatigue all of your people they meet, their numbers increasing with every kill of man and steed?
“Perhaps then others might take advantage of you while you kill all your undead brothers and ancestors, and reap and slay all those you seek to protect while you are busy elsewhere. I’m sure you will understand and appreciate their cunning and wisdom at that time, too.”
“And if I were to offer to send aid to help fighting these undead?” the Khan inquired in a slightly different tone.
“Your reputation precedes you, great Khan. Who would believe that you came for altruistic reasons, or that you would not at the very least order your troops to attack once the common enemy was defeated? You are renowned for your pragmatic approach to war, after all.”
He just grunted, keeping my eyes, while I kept his stare without effort. He’d made his bed, he could lie in it.
He was a Brown-Purple warrior with a heart yearning for conquest. His idea of providing for his people was stealing from other people, not improving his own folk or their way of life. I had no sympathy for him and I would kill him and his whole army of Browns to Gray-Blacks without batting an eye.
There was a trap here, and it was a pretty good one. It basically started with a dual spell cutting across the valley, lifting a sixty-foot wall up in front of the nomad advance, and a sixty-foot wide moat behind them, trapping them in between.
Then there were options of unleashing moving Walls of Fire down the width of the valley, frying them all, or just having the Zanzyran soldiers come up the far side of the wall and bombard them all to death with spells with impunity. They’d be ducks in a shooting gallery, and the mages of Zanzyr would use them to show off to one another with their best killing spells. Their shamans weren’t going to save them at all.
He grunted at me, looking left and right as he sat back, his decision already made.
He didn’t have an overpopulation problem, and his lands were basically right behind him. This wasn’t much different than going out for a good ride to visit and intimidate some neighbors.
“We withdraw.” Ah, taking advantage of me broadcasting his commands, he didn’t even need to gesture to his bannermen. “Priests, seek out the men with black gums and either treat them or slit their throats if they refuse the treatment.”
Like I said, pragmatic.