Chapter 3: A Slight Miscalculation
Marcus prided himself on his wit and eloquence. Whenever he spoke, it was not simply to communicate a point. Rather, each word was carefully chosen to imbue the right tone and elevate his message to the level of poetry. It was this dedication that rendered crowds spellbound by his stories and opponents tongue-tied by his insults. Even the most critical curmudgeons and dismissive dastards found themselves unable to deny his abilities. In his best moments, he'd even been known to sway kings.
This was not one of those moments.
A string of vulgar and uninspired curses spewed from Marcus as he finally came back to his senses. Despite all of his training, for once he neither had the time nor the mental fortitude to maintain his usual bearing and presence of mind. The present situation truly was an exploration of new ways to trigger a heart attack.
The endless lines of men continued to march past him at a quick pace, practically a jog. Marcus grew increasingly horrified as he watched the tide of armored warriors appear and then immediately follow after the previous row toward the town. At this point, he'd probably watched several thousand go by. The numbers were reaching levels of such absurdity that he worried that they would never stop coming.
"Uh, halt! Stop! Pause! Cancel!" Marcus cried out anything he could think of to cancel the spell or somehow stem the flow. He even used [Spellcraft] to recount some handy dispels he'd memorized, but nothing worked. Whatever he'd set in motion, it wouldn't stop now.
His attempts to stop the army gave way to more curses. For once, he wished he'd been just a little less distracted last night. Then he might have actually read that tome through.
He hurriedly flipped open the book and skimmed through the spell section to see if there was some other part of the incantation he'd missed. But if there was, it was a hidden thing, buried beneath lines upon lines of other magical jargon and diagrams. Everything he saw related to the summoning itself, not what to do once said summoning was successful.
He looked up at the sky helplessly. Whatever mage wrote this was probably looking down on him and having a hearty laugh right about now.
Throughout the whole ordeal, the continuously spawning lines of soldiers completely ignored their summoner. Even when he risked directing his orders at the men, they seemed to fall on deaf ears. As bad as that was, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise—having the attention of hundreds of dangerous warriors directed his way might actually give him a heart attack, or worse.