There were a lot of spirits clinging to the land. A lot. Death and devastation had been visited on the Western Province by the Empire on an obscene scale, and even in these remote areas, with only villages and farmsteads dotted across the landscape, the remnants were clear.
Seen through the eyes of the Ashenfla skeletons, the spirits wailed and scread in silence. Thrashing and clawing at anything living that drew close enough, but unable to have any effect on the tangible world. They flocked toward Tyron, filled with hatred for the life he held, and he recruited them by the dozen.
Ghosts were not his area of expertise, not by a long shot, but they remained useful, ideal for spreading out around the horde and scouting the terrain.
With this growing cloud of spectres in place, and his wyvern flying overhead, Tyron finally encountered the first pack of kin roaming the grassland. Although the rifts were far away, the closest being Dustwatch, Endless Sand and Skyice, well to the south, he’d expected to see more of the mana-born monsters roaming, considering there were no active Slayers in place. Totally unguarded, the rifts would be spewing an endless stream of magick and kin into the land, growing wider, the pressure building until further breaks were likely.
Thinking about the situation only angered Tyron further.
They knew. They all damn well knew what this was doing to the world. All his life, he had been raised among Slayers, told that protecting people from the kin and controlling the rifts was the only thing keeping this world alive. Even thinking about an entire province, seven rifts, left completely untended, seed like utter madness to him. It went against every instinct he had from his ti growing up.
Bulky and covered in thick scales with long, serrated spines protruding from their backs, Tyron knew these creatures had co from the rift at Dustwatch, over two hundred kilotres to the south. With their grotesquely overdeveloped front arms, they were powerful lee combatants, but ungainly, the magick having twisted their forms away from nature.
An excellent test for his new ashfla skeletons.
Although none of his wights or revenants had yet been improved to the new standard, he wouldn’t send his basic minions forward without any support at all. He chose Brigette, the forr swordswoman, to lead the assault.
“Don’t get too involved unless you have to,” he told her. “Don’t control them too much either. I want to see just how intelligent these skeletons are without us having to babysit them too much.”
“Are you sure?” she asked him, clearly hesitant to question his judgent. “What if so of them are destroyed?”
He knew what she was worried about, the ashfla skeletons were expensive and difficult to create. It would be a waste if any were lost before the looming confrontation.
“We have to see what they can do,” he told her. “I won’t hold you responsible even if all of them are lost, don’t worry.”
It was one thing to test the strength of the reinforced bones, to order minions and see how capable they were, it was another to see them fight. As his father had often remarked, battle was always the true test. Even Magnin’s vaunted instincts could sotis prove to be off when he tested new thods and techniques in combat for the first ti. Tyron could recall several wry shrugs from his father as the man had laughed off a particular failure.
So it was with keen interest that Tyron watched through Brigette's eyes as she led a hundred ashfla skeletons into battle. Against a pack of almost two dozen of the spiked kin, it was easily half as many as Tyron would have sent of his regular skeletons. He had high hopes for the newly made undead.
A mix of sword and shield and sword-only skeletons, Brigette arranged them into a simple formation, shields in front, swords behind, and marched them forward, following his instructions not to interfere too much.
Predictably savage, the kin reacted as soon as they noticed the skeletons drawing near. The entire pack turned and began to bound over the grass, snarling and hooting, their powerful forearms smashing the ground as they ran.
In response, the ashfla skeletons braced, assuming a defensive stance, without any prompting from their wight commander.
That was interesting….
As any fight against the kin tended to be, the battle was brief and brutal. Howling with blind rage, the monsters threw themselves against the skeletons, hooked claws reaching, desperate to rend and destroy. Tyron wondered just how many would be lost in the initial charge, only for his eyes to widen in shock as the undead held the line.
Leaping into the ranks of skeletons, the kin tried to smash their way through, only for the skeletons to brace against their shields, holding firm. So even deflected the charge, turning their shields to redirect the montum of the kin, sending them sprawling to the side.
Stolen novel; please report.
Reinforced, their bones were far heavier and more durable, giving the skeletons increased stability and strength. Their new weave might be crude, but the vastly improved strength of the threads enabled them to expend a huge volu of magick and exert far more power than before.
From behind the wall of shields, the longsword-wielding skeletons gripped their blades in two hands and thrust over the shoulders of the leading undead. Blood and ichor flowed as the kin scread. Newly reforged, the blades had also been transford, heavier, sharper, more durable. Using these traits to their advantage, the skeletons were easily able to penetrate the scaled hide of the beasts, plunging them deep to pierce flesh.
Of course, the fight wasn’t entirely one-sided. With their unnatural, muscular arms, the monsters lashed out, striking wildly about themselves. Although the skeletons did an admirable job getting out of the way or catching the blows on their shields, the sheer strength of the kin was enough to do damage. Shields cracked, bones broke and skeletons fell back, injured. Yet others stepped into the breach, swords at the ready and striking ho with deadly effect.
In a short span of ti, the combat was over. Brigette, the forr swordswoman, stood stunned, not having had to intervene in the slightest. Watching from a distance, Tyron was impressed. Without any support from his wights or assistance from himself in the form of spell support, the ashfla skeletons had butchered the kin, demonstrating imnsely improved strength, speed and coordination.
Just as well, because they drew far more magick. Tyron estimated over the fight that a single ashfla was utilising the sa amount of magick as five regular skeletons. That was a price he was more than willing to pay. Everything he had done to defray the cost of his minions and improve their efficiency was paying him back in spades now.
Dove whistled from beside him.
“The new bony boys are doing work,” he said. “I’m speechless. I never thought skeletons would be able to do sothing like that.”
‘Speechless’ was, as ever, not a literal term when applied to the forr Summoner.
“I may have to promote them from bony boys,” Dove noted, observing closely with a hand on his chin. “Perhaps they have risen to the level of shaft soldiers.”
“Shut up, Dove,” Tyron groaned.
“No, seriously. These new skeletons are long and strong. I’m certain the shaft soldiers will be feared all over the Empire.”
“Did you have sothing productive to say, or were you just coming over here to make bad jokes?”
“Mainly the bad jokes, but also to express my shock and surprise that you managed to make skeletons look actually fearso. I was certain it couldn’t be done. Those ghouls and other assorted nasties raised my opinion of what a strong undead could be, but I think you’ve t the bar.”
“Uh, thanks. I guess.”
A sincere complint from Dove couldn’t help but feel like a trap. The man had lost so much of his humanity since his death, which was only to be expected, but perhaps a small ember of who had been before still burned within him.
At least, a part of him that cared about sothing other than inappropriate comnts and blasphemy.
Turning his mind back to his minions, Tyron was more than satisfied. He knew there was a lot more he could do to improve their performance, and he was also aware of just how much of a force multiplier he himself could be. What the ashfla skeletons had shown today was the minimum base level of what they could do.
Tyron was also starting to wonder what would result when his wights and revenants were also improved to make use of the new thods he had earned.
It would happen, but his base minions needed to be improved first. If his rank and file skeletons couldn’t hold the line, even with all of his support, then he didn’t have a horde, he had a nagerie of harmless mice.
“We need to move faster,” he said, causing Dove to turn around and face him. “If we don’t get to Foxbridge soon, there won’t be enough ti to work on my minions.”
He was doing everything he could while still on the road, but that was limited. With a plethora of new abilities and spells to try and sort through, Tyron was targeting them one by one, teasing out the sigils and putting together his initial versions of the various spells.
With so much on his plate, he was confident he wouldn’t be sleeping any ti soon. Luckily he’d managed to get so rest while he could.
“I recognise that look in your eye, kid,” Dove said. “You’re about to do sothing you probably shouldn’t.”
“When am I not? Do you want to be a pain in the neck, or do you want to help for a change?”
“Excuse ? I’m very helpful. Just because I’m not platinum like so people…”
“You also have a slave contract engraved on your soul.”
“That too. Outside of those issues…”
“Your personality is also… just… the worst.”
“Damn it, Tyron! Do you want my help or not?”
“If you’re offering, I’ll take it. I have a lot of spellwork to do.’
“Fine then, let’s get to it.”
If Dove was feeling like being useful for a change, the Necromancer wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Gathering up the ashfla skeletons he’d sent into battle, Tyron burned his own health to repair the damage, raising his brows at just how much it took. Clearly the more advanced material had an increased cost of repair as well. Good to know.
Once the column was reford, they resud the march, not stopping day or night. Along the way, the devastation beca more and more visible as they entered more populated regions closer to the river.
Skeletons and kin wandered freely, roaming the grasslands, empty farms and devastated villages. When they drew too close, Tyron allowed his undead to fight, smashing the monsters and gathering up the bones of the dead whenever they could.
Although the column didn’t move that quickly, it never rested, Tyron himself directing their progress from the back of his construct. It took a week, but eventually the town of Foxbridge could be seen in the distance.
Tyron had known it was coming. He knew the outlying farms and villages by na, knew the families that had likely been buried beside their own houses.
This was where he would make his stand.
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