5 Years Later
I sat cross legged in a small room I had rented for the evening. My armor was piled on a table nearby, while my warhammer lay over my legs. The weapon was my center, and with it held tight in my grip I focused myself inward.
Having done this little routine hundreds if not thousands of times at this point, it took mere moments for me to locate my soul. Or at least I presumed it was my soul anyway, there werent exactly many books on the subject and every one I'd managed to locate so far had been a fake. With only my past experience as a flight mage to go on, I deduced that the container which held my mana was my soul.
And it had been damaged.
Five years ago it had been a battered, beaten down thing with barely the strength to hold on, but now… now things were different.
I was nearly six and a half feet tall (Though I still felt short for some reason.) I also put on muscle with barely any effort, and mastered every task that I had put my mind to in little time. I had learned every language I had come across, building out a repertoire of over thirty, with the addition of fourty or so regional dialects. It took only minutes to learn if the language was new, or seconds if it was another minor dialect.
I was by all measures, a super human of some kind. Though I knew not by whom I had been constructed, or why I had been created. And someone had indeed created this body, that much I had learned early on. There were too many signs of tampering for my existence to be anything but artificial.
I also got the distinct feeling that I was a square peg in a round hole.
This mortal form was not meant for me, nor was it meant for my soul. My abilities came in waves, and my growth in spurts, starting and stopping abruptly. I had adapted to this body, as it had me, but we had yet to reach full equilibrium, even after six years having past.
Furthermore, I was confused by why my creator had not remedied the damage done to my soul. Being X had taken a baseball bat to my spirit, and my time spent in those twin hells had not been kind to me. Perhaps my designer didn't have the technology, or perhaps they had merely intended for it to heal the way it had, slowly, and over time. At this point I had nearly recovered completely, my scarred soul no longer holding mana like a sieve did water.
I extended a hand, and attempted to construct the array for a simple flame spell, and though I found myself able to do such calculations without the aid of an orb, the spell failed to materialize. Trying a second time revealed that no, I still had not figured out what was wrong with my casting. For despite my mana holding firm, and my soul being mostly healed I couldn't actually bring my spells to life, at least not fully.
Something continued to hold me back, leaving my magic to spark and flare at random, never accomplishing anything useful. It felt almost like I was attempting to light a candle in a wind storm. I failed most of the time, only to get a sudden rush of light that lasted only a few moments, my magic finally reacting to my call and igniting, only to die a second or two later.
It was frusterating, but by this point I was used to failure and I couldn't even be mad, not really anyway. I had superhuman reflexes, strength greater than any man alive, and my years spent fighting as a mercenary had allowed me to gain the skill I needed to fight effectively. I still would have preferred my rifle, but the warhammer I had forged myself at least required no ammo and almost no maintance.
Ignoring the painful longing that came whenever I thought of that trusty gun of mine, I instead turned my sight inward. Inspecting my soul once again, I came to the conclusion that there was some limiter placed upon me. I would need a trigger to break through this glass ceiling, though I had no idea what that could be.
Perhaps I needed only more time, or maybe I had yet to reach the necessary skill level. Either way I was content to merely study my soul and hope that I was able to figure it out eventually.
With my inward searching concluded for the moment, I allowed the meditation to end and my senses to fully return to my body. I barely had the chance to stand back up when I heard a knock at the door.
"I wonder who that could be," I thought aloud.
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I shifted from foot to foot, a pouch of gold clutched tight against my chest. My shawl was almost too warm, but I kept the cloth covering tight around my shoulders, wary of being seen. I had never held so much money before, but that wasn't the only reason I was worried.
I was standing at the door of the Lady of Iron, the most feared and brutal mercenary in all the known lands. Stories of her combat prowess were many, but few told of what she was like outside of combat. Leaving me only with horror stories told in hushed whispers when no one was around to go off. Regardless of whether they fought alongside the Iron Lady or against her, they all told of a woman as unrelenting as the iron of her armor.
"Enter," ordered the firm, deep voice of the room's occupant.
My hand went to the knob before I even knew what I was doing, the command stirring my body quicker than even my mind was capable of. I thought of running, of tossing aside this fool plan entirely, but I knew I couldn't do that. She had acknowledged me, which meant retreat was already no longer an option.
I tried to take a breath to steady my nerves and though the effort was largely wasted, I opened the door regardless. Peering inside, I saw the dreaded figure of legend standing only a few short feet away, her head amidst the rafters. Her piercing blue eyes immediately dug into me, and for a moment I thought I felt a foreign presence at the back of my mind.
That odd feeling passed quickly, leaving me standing there, dumbstruck, my gaze drawn up into the Lady of Iron's cold, unflinching gaze. As I stared, I realized that despite all the stories I had been told, this pitiless mercenary looked almost normal, sort of. She wore a simple grey chiton sized appropriately for someone who was taller than the walls outside this very town. It did make me wonder how much cloth had gone into the creation of the garment, as her chest dwarfed my own by an order of magnitude.
"Are you going to speak, or just stand there, undressing me with your eyes?" The Lady Of Iron barked.
"I-I wasn't! I just- was looking and- I uh, wondered-" I stuttered, my tongue suddenly fat and unresponsive while my cheeks alighted with shame.
"You are forgiven, merchant," the Lady Of Iron declared, gesturing dismissively at me. "Now tell me why you are here."
I gulped down my nervousness and did as she asked, while at the same time trying not to think about how pretty her short golden hair was.
"My name is Beroea, and as you've deduced, I'm a merchant," I muttered awkwardly. "And I was hoping to hire you."
"That explains the bag of gold clutched against your chest," the Lady Of Iron rumbled.
"I uh yes!" I all but shouted, extending my arms. "As you know winter is soon to pass, and the raids from the west will soon begin again."
The Lady Of Iron crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at me impassively, the weight of her attention leaving me barely able to stand.
"And I wanted your help. I mean your services in defending my village," I concluded, my hands now shaking so bad the gold jingled loudly in its bag. "Please, keep them safe! They are right on the border and I fear they may not survive the spring!"
The Lady Of Iron stared at me for several more seconds before snatching the bag from my grip and opening it. The moment her attention turned from me to the contents of the pouch, I felt a great weight lift from my shoulders and for the first time since I had entered the room, I could breath normally.
"This is a lot of gold," murmured the Lady Of Iron.
"Y-yes!" I spat, my fingers clutching at the hem of my stola with such intensity that my knuckles turned white. "You were- er are the best after all!"
"This is more than a single merchant of your caliber could produce in a reasonable time frame," the Lady Of Iron pointed out, gesturing to my clothing. "Unless you are wearing these rags as some sort of disguise."
"I…" I gulped. "I have been saving up for some time."
"This is likely the proceeds of an entire year's labor for a merchant of your stature, before expenditures," the Lady Of Iron pressed, her gaze narrowing. "What are you not telling me?"
"I… I…" I tried to lie, to say what I had been told to say, but I couldn't bring myself to utter a falsehood in her presence. It was as if some force held my tongue, physically stopping me from saying anything but the whole, unvarnished truth.
"The tyrant. His men came to me, they said they had heard of my crimcustances and that Dammekos himself had contributed to your fee," I blubbered, unable to stop myself from spilling everything I knew. "They told me you were here, and that you were the best."
The Lady Of Iron continued to glare at me, the weight of my shame building until I felt my knees begin to grow weak, and I struggled to remain upright.
"Acceptable," the Lady Of Iron finally concluded, her features suddenly relaxing. "As punishment for lying to me, you will assist me in donning my armor. Once that is done you will show me to your village. Understood?"
"Y-yes, my lady," I blubbered without thinking.
"Good, now hand me the chest peice," the Lady Of Iron ordered.
I grabbed the enormous hunk of steel only to find that I was completely unable to lift the thing.
"Apologies. I forget how weak you people are," the Lady Of Iron muttered.
She then plucked the enormous hunk of steel between two fingers, and lifted it over my head. I tried not to make the feeling of awe I felt quite so obvious, but I couldn't help but gawk at her titanic strength.
"Tell me of these men who contributed to my fee," she demanded while strapping the breastplate in place.
"Er why is it so manlike?" I asked, only to immediately cover my mouth with both hands, eyes going wide.
The Lady Of Iron didn't seem annoyed however, and even chuckled at the remark.
"I've seen how your books depict female warriors, and it disgusts me," she explained. "Armor that exagerates that aspect of a woman's body makes the entire peice less durable, and draws an enemy's blade towards the center of one's form. Increasing the chance that a glancing strike is turned into a killing blow."
"I… see," I murmured.
"It is a thing of vanity much like men and their love of the codpiece," the Lady Of Iron joked, flashing me a small, wry smile.
"They are quite silly, aren't they?"
"Indeed, now tell me of these men, and hand me that gorget while you are at it," the Lady Of Iron asked, only to roll her eyes when I struggled to figure out what the gorget was. "It's the neck thing."
"R-right," I murmured, grabbing the armor as requested and bringing it over. "They were polite, but firm. They were quite insistent I hire you though I couldn't tell as to why."
"You didn't ask?"
"I tried, but they just said something vague about an interview before changing the topic," I answered.
"Hmm interesting. Pauldron please."
Following her finger, I grabbed the peice of armor, and handed it over.
"How could you afford all this?" I asked, slightly awe struck by so much pure steel in one place.
"Hmm? Oh yes, I suppose I'm wearing a small fortune's worth of metal, aren't I?" The Lady Of Iron mused aloud. "It is funny. I had thought you didn't know the secrets of metallurgy due to the dominance of bronze, but no it was actually just very very expensive. Rerebrace, couter, vambrace and guantlets please."
I blinked owlishly.
"The arm stuff."
"Oh um yes," I exclaimed, bringing over each of the pieces she pointed out in order.
"To answer your question, my services are quite highly desired these days," the Lady Of Iron continued, securing each peice in place with deft movements that spoke of deep experience. "And it's not like I have anything else to spend it all on. May as well invest in myself, right?"
"Of course. Absolutely," I blurted.
"I knew you'd understand. Being a merchant and all," the Lady Of Iron continued. "Leg parts, please."
I nodded, and grabbed what she asked of me.
"Would you mind tightening these straps? My arms aren't quite long enough," the Lady Of Iron inquired, gesturing to a loose one that stuck out from between her shoulder blades.
"Y-yes. Right away," I replied, pulling it tight and securing it in place. "Is that acceptable?"
"Very good, thank you," she remarked.
The compliment was small, but for some reason I felt lighter after having heard it.
"Helmet please," the Lady Of Iron asked.
Once more I obliged, handing over the enormous, and slightly boxy looking helmet with vision slits so narrow I wondered how she saw out of them.
"Thank you Beroea. You were a great help," the Lady of Iron offered.
"You are very welcome ma'am," I replied, ducking into an awkward half bow.
"Take that bag and walk with me," the Lady Of Iron demanded, gesturing to a provision bag near the door. "We have much to discuss."
"Yes my lady. Right away my lady," I immediately replied, a smile slowly spreading across my face.
My fears assuaged and my worries gone, I finally let myself consider the possibility that my village may survive unraided. A part of me was still utterly terrified of this monster of metal and muscle that strode alongside me like some manner of animated colossus, but that voice was growing quieter by the second.
Despite having given her enough money to hire an entire mercenary company, I felt no regret. She would save us, I just knew it.
"Why do your people remain so close to the border?" I asked, glancing down at the short, thin woman who was both my employer, and guide. "You are so close to Epinerious. Surely you fear their yearly raids?"
"Oh we do but I'm afraid the village elders are stubborn. They think the alliance between the three tribes of the Epinerious to be short lived. Thus they need not move," she answered.
"They've held together fine since the start of their union ten years ago," I replied.
She sighed. "I know, and I've tried to tell them that but they refuse to see reason. Each year claiming that this is the year that the alliance collapses and the Epision, Nercide, and Mysious each go their separate ways."
"That doesn't seem likely," I pointed out. "Their triumvirate system may not be the most efficient, but it is more effective than the lone despots that rule most of the world."
"I… don't understand."
"Forget I said anything," I dismissed. "Though it is rather interesting that they've managed to survive as long as they have considering they own the wastes."
I declined to mention that their territory also encompassed the pits, though not the nameless village where I had sheltered over half a decade ago.
"My mother said it was because of the sages of the Mysious that kept them together though my father disagreed and insisted that it was the herd of Gotle, that the Nercide bred which was how they had survived," offered Beroea.
Gotle were a sort of sure footed horse that had goatlike features and were generally quite unpleasant to work with. They made decent enough pack animals, though it was only the barbarians of the west who had managed to train them to serve as cavalry. I hadn't figured out how they had managed this however, and that fact irritated me immensely.
I did not enjoy not knowing something which should be obvious.
"But is not the great number of Episions that make these yearly raids even possible?" I gently pressed.
"I suppose they are each required to support the greater whole," she reasoned.
"Now the real question lies in why Lochos has no garrison in your village," I inquired.
"That's simple," Beroea replied. "We produce little, and have been warned to move in the past. At this point I'm fairly certain the tyrant has grown tired of defending a bunch of fools unwilling to abandon their trees at the edge of his lands."
"Hmmm. A cruel choice, but one I could understand. The lives of his men cannot be spent carelessly," I thought aloud.
"Still doesn't sit right with me. Shouldn't we be receiving at least some protection? Otherwise what were our taxes for?" the girl remarked, only to wince. "Please don't tell anyone I said that."
"Your secret is safe with me," I whispered, giving the young woman a reassuring wink.
She must have been quite glad to hear that, because Beroea's cheeks lit up, and she giggled excitedly to herself. I ignored the strange reaction, and faced forward, taking in the landscape, and thinking on what I had learned.
The tyrant who claimed these lands was clearly attempting to kill me, it was the only response that made sense. He had added so much gold to the pot because he intended on taking the money from my corpse. Well, I wouldn't go down quite so easily, and if he thought a couple of wild men from the wasteland would get the better of me then he had another thing coming.
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I strode through the orchard with slow, languid steps, my mind wandering as did my gaze. The trees here were large, and bore red and white fruit covered in dozens of tiny sharp points. They tasted pretty good but the effort needed to remove the spines, and all the seeds kept demand for them low. With some selective breeding they might eventually be worth something, but would require either direct genetic manipulation, or hundreds of years of careful cultivation.
"A copper for your thoughts. My lady," Beroea offered.
I blinked, having almost forgotten she was walking alongside me due to being so absorbed in my own thoughts.
"I was just considering your horned fruit," I replied, gesturing to the trees. "It is a shame they are so difficult to eat. They are quite tasty, if a bit sour."
"I apologize for my poor cooking," Beroea hastily offered.
"No, your cooking was adequate. I'm more thinking about how, if these fruits grew without spines or seeds, they would be far more useful," I concluded.
"Ahh yes, my grandfather said something similar. Apparently the ones his parents grew were smaller and the spines were as hard as bone," Beroea remarked.
"Interesting, then the work has already begun," I muttered, only to pause and clear my throat. "Musings aside, how is morale back in town?"
"It is good. Your presence inspires confidence."
"Excellent."
My steps slowed at the edge of a grove, my gaze falling on a small wooden fort constructed within the shelter of a slight earthen depression. It was a simple affair, little more than a square box with several raised platforms for the defenders to shoot down from. There was also a lean-to area that would grant some protection from arrowfire should it be required and the gate was wide and strong.
Several of the men of the village were still working on it, shoring up gaps in the walls, or shoveling a small dirt berm around the exterior. About seven and a half feet tall, the walls wouldn't keep out a determined force, or even one equipped with siege ladders. I was not going to be fighting an organized army however, but rather a group of raiders with all the discipline of a pack of children.
"I'm surprised we managed to construct something so large in only a week and a half," Beroea exclaimed.
I couldn't resist scowling at the thing, my trained gaze picking out a half dozen weak points in the primitive walls.
"It will serve adequately," I muttered.
"You disaprove?" Beroea pressed.
"Had I not been needed to make crossbows, and train your people in their use, this would be a fortress, rather than a wooden hovel," I spat, gesturing at the palisade fort.
"Well, we do appreciate your efforts to make us new weapons," Beroea whispered.
"It can't be helped," I said with a sigh. "At least it will be ready for their arrival."
"They're here then?"
"Yes," I stated simply.
The orchard, as well as the village attached to it lay at the bottom of a surprisingly deep valley. One of the few verdant lands I've come across, greenery was everywhere save for a small clearing at the lip of the valley. Though it was many miles away I could clearly see dozens of small shapes moving around the area, tying up their mounts and establishing a base camp.
"Indeed," I stated. "They've camped where I assumed they would and are making no efforts to hide their presence. I'm sure when night falls you will see their campfires from here."
"That is… bold of them," Beroea muttered.
"They are confident," I remarked. "They know this place is small, and poorly defended, so they've made no effort to hide their presence."
"Do you think they'll attack tonight?" Beroea whispered nervously.
"No," I answered, shaking my head. "They have no reason to think we are preparing any defences, and wont find out about our little fort until they wander into it due to the tree cover."
"I'm still not sure of this plan, my lady," Beroea murmured.
"What concerns you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"What if they go around the orchard, and head straight into the village?"
"They are far too confident for that. I doubt they'll even send scouts," I dismissed. "And if they do then so be it. Your people shall be somewhere safe, and though they may lose their homes they shan't lose their lives."
"I suppose."
"Worry not," I began, gripping the woman's shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. "I'll be here to protect you."
"Of course. I never doubted you for a second, my lady!"
"Good, now gather the rest of the fighters and get those unable to fight down into the cellars. We need to be ready for battle by the time the sun rises," I ordered.
"Y-yes ma'am! Right away ma'am!"
The girl sprinted off like a bat out of hell, a wild look on her face and frantic haste in her step. It was a bit odd to see her so motivated but I simply chalked that up to her village being in danger.
I turned my attention from my impromptu assistant and up towards the distant camp being built overlooking the valley. There were a lot of them, possibly several hundred, rather than the small raiding party I had assumed would be coming. My confidence wavered somewhat when I noticed there were an exceptional number of riders amongst their number.
Clearly some fresh faced commander had directed an entire army in my direction, no doubt eager for an easy target before he set off further into Lochos. It seemed likely to me that his forces were mostly recruits, as the veteran raiders wouldn't be interested in such a meagre target. I had to stop this train of thought quickly, as I didn't want to make too many assumptions based on next to no intel.
"Thirty or three hundred. It doesn't matter," I muttered, hefting my warhammer onto my shoulder. "They'll die all the same."