BT - Book 1 - Chapter 38 (Patreon)

The Durgh sentries died quickly.  Brensen dropped from the ceiling of the great cavern on top of them, their bony claws ripping through the guards like a boulder through paper.  Only their warbeasts, great chitin hovered hounds with fangs the size of Micah’s forearms, survived the initial surprise attack.  They didn’t survive the daemon’s follow up.

The sliver of light that marked the entrance to the Great Depths had long since disappeared behind Micah, marking the expedition with a sense of finality.  Intellectually he understood the magnitude of his task, but as the last of the day's light disappeared behind him, the truth of the matter set in.  He was single handedly challenging a small nation, and there was no room to return home a failure.  Either he succeeded, or the tunnels and caverns of the Great Depths would be his tomb.

Luckily, whatever the rituals were changing in Micah’s body extended to his eyes, allowing him to see in the dark without pause or trouble.  Although Telivern could glow softly and illuminate the heavy darkness of the Great Depths, it would be as good as announcing their presence to every subterranean creature they came across.  

Micah didn’t even spare a look in the direction of the dead Durgh.  Although the soldiers were strong by human standards, roughly between levels fifteen and twenty, they were merely an appetizer for the battle to come.

The next group of scouts spotted his party from afar.  They managed to fire a volley of bone arrows at Micah before the Brensen reached them.  With a wave of his hand and a word or two of power, a wind shield sprang into being.  The arrows, their heads molded from strange alloys that bit into the stone itself, clattered to the ground around him ineffectually.

Screams of alarm echoed through the cave as the Durgh quickly found out how outmatched they were.  The Durgh tried to resist, swinging axes and mauls at the daemons, but the Brensen were too fast and their claws too sharp to be denied.  In a flurry of motion, limbs and blood littered the cave’s floor.

Ahead voices began to echo through the empty caves.  Even if Micah spoke the harsh and guttural Durgh tongue, he wouldn’t be able to understand them, but the content of their words hardly mattered.  He wasn’t here to parley, just to eliminate the threat that the tribes posed.  The only significance the voices had to Micah was as an indication that he’d been noticed.

A shame, but not really unexpected.  He’d only be able to get so close to the nearest Durgh encampment without being spotted.  An army of almost fifty hulking daemons with glowing eyes was more or less the opposite of a stealthy approach after all.

Ten minutes later, Micah approached a gate made of dark bone and bound with finely crafted clasps of metal spanning the mouth of a cavern.  Within, lights of flame and magic illuminated buildings and humanoid shapes, but blocking his way were two Durgh, much larger than even their oversized brethren.  

“Human,” the male of the two stepped forward, a glaive over his massive shoulder.  “You stand before the Rokdur clan at the head of a great host.  Your creatures’ claws are stained with the blood of our clansfolk.  Tell me, why should I let you pass?”

Micah looked the massive, musclebound Durgh up and down and shrugged.

“You shouldn’t really,” he replied dismissively.  “I know that the Durgh are amassing an army.  That in a couple of months you will spill out of your caves and invade the surface.  I’m here to thin your numbers enough that your invasion never comes to pass.  I fully plan on killing every warrior in your clan.”

“I don’t know where you’ve heard such slander,” the female Durgh cut in, “but our clan isn’t making any such preparations.  If you attack us, we would welcome the challenge.  Your blood will make our warriors stronger after all.  There is no need for conflict today.  Turn around manling.  Return to your safe wooden homes in the placid overworld.  Be thankful that today the Durgh Host does not need your life.”

The entire time she spoke, Micah’s eyes never left the male Durgh.  He refused to meet Micah’s eyes as he shifted his weight from leg to leg nervously.  The Durgh’s hand grasped the bone haft of the glaive so hard that his dark knuckles began to turn white from lack of blood.

“Your friend may not have corrected you,” Micah answered blandly, “but his actions are as obvious as any words.  He may as well be shouting the truth at me.”

“She doesn’t know,” the male Durgh interjected.  “The Khan demanded that the clan heads keep our preparations secret until the last moment to preserve the element of surprise.”

Micah nodded slowly, ignoring the look of shock on the female Durgh’s face.  She stepped forward, lips flaring around her tusks and grabbed the male’s massive forearm.

“Horrl,” she bit out.  “I am your prime wife and the clan’s lead warrior.  What is the meaning of this.”

“You heard the human,” the male, Horrl, said shakily.  “I am not sure how he learned of the Khan’s plans, but the edict is clear.  His discovery is our failure.  Honor demands a duel to silence him.”

“I apologize,” Horrl, smiled ruefully.  “As much as I enjoy a good fight, this feels too much like subterfuge and dishonor to me.  I know my duty, but I am uncomfortable performing it.”

“I understand,” Micah smiled slightly in return.  “It feels like another lifetime, but I was a scholar of sorts.  I am well aware of your people’s honor and how it binds you.  Do what you need to do.”

“Human,” the giant Durgh turned to Micah, slamming the butt of his glaive onto the cavern floor with a deafening crash.  “I stand before you, Horrl of clan Rokdur, head of that Clan.  I challenge you or your representative to a duel of honor.  If I win, I only ask that you turn back from your mission.  If you win, I ask that the noncombatants in my clan be allowed to evacuate before your attack.”

“Noncombatants?” Micah cocked his head as he motioned with a free hand toward one of the two Luoca.  Horrl shied backward as the great daemon approached, leering at him from its human face.

“Those without blessings,” Horrl’s eyes were fixed on the Luoca.  “Children too young to receive them and their caretakers, those passed over by Ankros in his wisdom.”  

Telivern grunted beside Micah.  He reached up without turning around and ran his hand through the deer’s fur.

“I was thinking the same thing buddy,” Micah smiled slightly before turning back to the Durgh, his face returning to its previous severe expression.  “Your deal is acceptable.  I will warn you that you do not stand a chance in this duel.  I would ask that you begin the evacuation now.  Your survivors may let your Khan know that I am coming.  My goal is not to destroy your civilization, just to stop this war before it spills over onto the service.”

Relief flowed into Micah’s hand from Telivern.

“I thank you for your honor and mercy,” Horrl inclined his head slightly toward Micah before turning to the female Durgh.  “Chuth, gather the unblessed and the children and prepare them for the journey to the Khanmoot.  Make sure that they tell the Khan that a human has come to thwart him, and-”

The Durgh’s voice caught slightly.  He shook his head before continuing.

“Make sure they know that Clan Rokdur died on its feet on the field of honor,” he smiled slightly at the other Durgh, his tusks reflecting the distant light of the village.  “There is no need for vengeance or a blood feud in an affair of honor.  They must not seek out this stranger.  If he survives his attack on the Khanmoot he is well beyond any of the little ones.  I would not have them throw their lives away.”

“Horrl,” Chuth’s voice was incredulous.  “How can you be so sure of our failure?  I’ve seen you take down two cave skulkers, bare chested and unarmed.  The fight has not yet happened.  It is not our way to surrender before the first blow has landed.”

“Chuth,” Horrl’s voice betrayed a definite note of sorrow.  “My blessing gives me the senses and reflexes of a predator.  I can see and smell what others cannot.  Despite his size, that human over there is a vortex of energy and danger.  I might prevail against him, but my odds are not good.  The creature he has selected as his champion is so far beyond me that I would be lucky to land a single blow before it ends me.”

“I have accepted my fate and I shall face it with honor,” he motioned back toward the clan gate.  “Now go, you and the other warriors have work to do before it is your turn to face your destinies.”

Chuth paused for a moment, obviously wanting to disobey her clan leader’s orders.  Eventually, duty got the better of her and she turned back to the gate.  She pressed her hand against one of the ornate metal clasps which glowed brightly for a second before it swung open and allowed her to pass.

“Thank you human,” Horrl inclined his head once more.  “May I ask your name before we begin this duel?”

“Micah Silver,” his voice quiet, but reaching every corner of the absolutely silent chamber.

“You honor me Micah Silver,” Horrl lifted his glaive and spun the weapon with practiced ease.  “Now watch Micah Silver.  It may be my time to die, but I die on my feet.”

Horrl sprinted forward, the glaive held right handed in a low guard while his left hand grabbed and threw three needlelike daggers at the Luoca with methodical precision.  

It didn’t move, observing him indolently.  A flick of its wing deflected the daggers, sending them skittering into the distant corners of the cavern where they hissed and melted from their brief contact with the daemon’s caustic essence.

With a blur that Micah could barely discern, the Luoca’s tail erased Horrl’s head.  One minute he was every inch the powerful Durgh warrior, charging forward with his back straight and fire in his eyes. The next, he was a torso tumblin to the ground while a spatter of something painted the wall distantly behind him.

Telivern shook slightly under Micah’s stroking fingers.

Unease.  Illness.

“We did what we could buddy,” Micah sighed, his hand still combing through the buck’s soft fur as he sought some comfort in its depths.  “We’re walking down a dark road and our hands are going to get more than a little dirty before we come out the other end, but in the end we weren’t really given another choice.”

Ten minutes later, the rest of the Rokdur exited their home cavern.  Gently, Chuth closed the gate behind them and sealed it by pressing her hand against the metal latch.  It glowed briefly, sealing their home against predators and scavengers. 

“Clan Head Horrl has fallen in honorable combat,” Chuth bellowed, her back to Micah and his daemons as they waited patiently.  “This human has challenged our Clan but he is not without honor.”

She paused.  Micah could see her hand quivering slightly as it gripped her great bone warclub.

“Noncombatants to the east tunnel,” she motioned with the club.  A collection of Durgh wearing simple brown robes, led hundreds of children away.  Chuth turned to the remaining warriors and raised her club above her head.  “As for the rest of us, it may be our time to die.”

“But we will die on our feet!” They thundered in response, almost four hundred Durgh charging as one.

The robed Durgh led the children in a hymn, a wordless dirge of lament.  The entire procession of noncombatants stopped just far enough away to mark themselves as outside the conflict.  One and all they clasped their hands together, witnessing the final moments of their clan.

Micah cast motioned with his free hand and his daemons surged forward to meet the charging Durgh.  He cast root spears.  Despite its low tier, Micah’s high mind attribute and skill in the spell were enough to slow and injure most of the advancing clan.

Before the Durgh could respond to his spell, Micah followed up by casting haste, touching the threads connected to his Brensen as they swooped down onto the stalled charge. Their claws extended and snicked through corded muscles and spines, beheading a Durgh with each swipe.

He cast regeneration, this time on the Onkert that formed a rough line as they advanced.  Although powerful, the Durgh were capable of injuring or killing the big gorillas.  Most of them would need healing before the battle was done so Micah pre-empted their needs.

Then the two Luoca tore into the Durgh battle line, their human faces howling and snarling as their insect wings tore through the enemy warriors.  Limbs flopped to the cavern floor, melting around the edges as the otherworldly energy from the daemons ate away at them.

Quickly, the Durgh tried to flow around the Luoca, recognizing Micah as the real threat and sacrificing lives in droves to slip past the tearing wings and piercing tails of the great daemons.  The survivors charged onward, harried by the flying Brensen until they hit the crowd of Onkert.  

Noting their strategy, Micah nodded to himself.  It might be futile, but he couldn’t fault the Durgh for their bravery or intelligence.  He began casting haste on himself. The Onkert would do their best, but against a determined foe that didn’t care if it lived or died, their power had limits.  

After a moment of fighting, Chuth and two other Durgh made it past, leaving their weaker brethren to occupy Micah’s daemons.  Telivern stepped away from Micah.  Wordlessly, one of the Durgh accompanying Chuth broke off to fight the buck.

Micah removed the spear from his shoulder and shifted it to a guard position.  First and foremost he might be a spellcaster, but even after all of the timelines, the spear was still Micah’s first tool and weapon.  He nodded to the two Durgh as he quickly mouthed the words to foresight.

They moved quickly, trying to catch Micah in a pincer, the male armed with a huge two handed sword coming from his right while Chuth tried to slip into his blind spot on the left to deliver a killing blow.

It wasn’t fast enough.  

The spell took hold and rainbow after images of probability stretched out from both of his opponents.  Ten seconds.  That was what his mind attribute, skill levels, and chronomancer specialization bought him.  It would be enough.

He leaned slightly to the side, letting the male’s sword rush past him as he rapidly cast paralytic sting.  Just as the blade hit the ground, the warrior’s hands stood still for a fraction of a second before he could withdraw his swing.  Micah’s hand, covered in a sickly green glow, snaked out and tapped the warrior on the wrist.

Micah flowed forward, the warclub missing him by an eyelash only to slam into the Durghish sword planted in the ground, shattering it.  In a second he was behind the twitching and frothing male Durgh.  Micah whipped the butt of his spear into the back of his reeling opponent’s knee, causing the man to fall over backward.

Quickly, he planted his spear against the cavern floor, using the massive weight of the warrior’s limp body to do what his limited body stat could not.  Punch through the Durgh’s thick skin, piercing into its neck, and up skewering the falling man’s brain.

“But you’re a spellcaster,” Chuth spoke in slow motion, her eyes widening in shock at a glacial pace.

He’d used four seconds.  Plenty of time.  

Micah unleashed the pressure spear he’d been casting while Chuth wasted time talking.  The jet of air punctured her hand, forcing Chuth to drop the club.  Micah strolled forward, shifting his weight slightly to dodge the frantic barehanded swing from the Durgh, once again mouthing the words to paralytic sting.

He tapped her wrist and Chuth’s eyes rolled up into her head.  Methodically, Micah kicked out her knees, bringing the Durgh down to his level.  He scurried onto her chest, knowing that he barely had a second left before the powerful warrior shook off the effects of his spell.

Touching his thumbs to each of her eyes and his forefingers to her sensitive ears, he cast sonic bolt.  Paralytic sting wore off, but the sonic attack had scrambled Chuth’s senses too much for her to resist properly.

Micah shifted his body perfectly with her struggles, moving in sync with her to avoid being unseated.  He cast sonic bolt again and her body stiffened.   He cast it a third time.  A fourth.

The rainbow blur around her faded.  There were no more potential actions for her to take as Chuth’s body breathed its last under the weight of a severely hemorrhaging brain.

He stood and took in the struggle between the final Durgh and Telivern as the prismatic display of probabilities began to fade.  Both were covered in wounds from the quick and vicious fight.  

Micah cast heal on his friend, closing its injuries.  The Durgh glanced backward at the two corpses and became frantic, struggling harder against Telivern.  It activated a blessing, its ribs bursting from its back into skeletal bladed spider legs.

A pressure spear took it through the hamstring, rupturing the muscle in a spray of gore.  It stumbled, using the new limbs growing from its back to catch itself before it could fall entirely, but the distraction was enough.

Telivern lunged forward, its antlers glowing as it thrust them into the Durgh’s throat.  Blood slickened the floor as the light left the warrior’s eyes.  He slumped, still suspended from the bone legs planted into the stone of the cavern.

Micah walked to the first Durgh, twisting his spear and kicking the massive corpse off of his weapon in order to retrieve it.  Finally, spear in hand he turned back to the battle.

Fundamentally it was over.  One or two Durgh warriors remained but the Brensen were more or less hunting them for sport.  Three of the Onkert were slain in the clash, but the rest were recovering rapidly.  He nodded.  

Next time he’d need to be more careful.  He’d won, but Chuth had been under level thirty five.  The next time he was challenged to hand to hand combat, he might not be so lucky.  Even with the help of foresight, he was still primarily a spellcaster.

The final Durgh fell, a Luoca’s tail punching a fist sized hole in its chest.  Suddenly the song of the noncombatants stopped.  For a moment, all of them inclined their heads in a disconcerting choreographed moment.  Then, wordlessly they filed out of the cavern.

Micah sighed, rubbing his gore covered spear on the breeches of the Durgh he’d killed with it.  He glanced up as Telivern plodded over.

“Almost done buddy,” he slung the spear back over his shoulder.  “We just have to go and break up the Khanmoot.  Then we can rest.”