BT - Book 1 - Chapter 39 (Patreon)

The cavern was gigantic, more than large enough to house Basil’s Cove in it.  More than that, it was gorgeous.  Every cliff face and stalactite was covered in intricate carvings and inlaid with metal filigree.  Even the ceiling was inlaid with a great tile mosaic, displaying great battles of old in intricate detail.

Micah sighed and looked at the enemy.  Almost 2000 Durgh warriors standing behind rows of slavering warbeasts.  Past them, the Khanmoot itself, a bastion of civilization in the wilds of the Great Depth, rose out of the rock floor.  None of the buildings were more than three stories tall, but each of them was covered with a colorful array of metal and bone ornamentation.

Two Durgh stepped away from the armed and ready band of warriors and began walking toward Micah and his daemons.  One stood almost twice his height, a towering monster of a man wearing armored fashioned from what appeared to be human bones.  Over his shoulder he held a handle attached by a finely crafted chain that ran across his back to the large spiked metal head of a flail.

The other Durgh was much smaller, even shorter than Micah, and unarmed.  He followed the warrior, trailing almost ten paces behind him and playing a steady beat in time with the larger Durgh’s steps on a pair of drums.  The drums were simple, little more than hollow wooden cylinders with skin stretched over them, each blow from the smaller Durgh’s hands took the entirety of his focus.

Micah stepped forward and walked a good ten paces from his daemons, enough that he could politely meet with the Durgh, symbolically away from his forces as the two Durgh were from theirs, but not so far that his summoned creatures wouldn’t be on hand to aid him if the apparent parley turned violent.

Abruptly, with no outside sign, the leading Durgh and his drummer stopped simultaneously.  Up close, Micah could see that the warrior’s thighs were as big around as his torso, corded muscle rippling under his thick black skin.  He craned his head upward only to notice the Durgh taking him in as well, dissecting Micah under his intense gaze.

“I stand before you, Krosst, Khan of the Southern Caverns,” the Durgh’s voice boomed out, clearly he wanted to be heard by his own soldiers as he spoke to Micah.  “The survivors of the Rokdur say that your champion bested their leader in a duel, and then you defeated their warriors in honorable combat.  If it were not for the peace treaty between our races, I would raise a mug to honor your valor, but your King and I have a treaty.  Tell me Human, why do you travel the Great Depths and make war upon our people?”

Even from a distance Micah could hear the sounds of shuffling and talking from the Durgh lines as they took in Krosst’s words.

“In about four months you will invade the surface anyway,” Micah responded blandly.  “Without warning or formal declaration you’ll overrun the surrounding areas putting entire towns to the sword.”

The drummer drew in breath with a hiss.  Behind Krosst, his soldiers stopped whispering.  An electric tension filled the air.  Apparently, Micah’s words were some sort of dramatic faux pas.  He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Then Krosst let loose a great booming laugh, his free hand slapping his chest as he struggled with his mirth.

“So I will Human!” Krosst reached up to wipe tears from his face.  “You have courage.  No one has called me a lier to my face in a decade.  If you weren’t so small and pink, I’d suspect that you had some proper Durgh blood in you.”

“Ankros has called us to the glory of battle,” Krosst continued, his smile revealing a pair of rune encrusted tusks.  “Our youth must test themselves and win honor.  It is the way of things.”

“My brother will die in that battle,” Micah replied, his voice steady despite the thunder of his heart beating in his ears.  “After Westmarch falls, you will march on Basil’s Cove, killing many people that I care for.”

“I’m sure I will,” Krosst agreed cheerfully.  “It will be a glorious raid.”

“I can’t let that happen,” Micah finished, struggling to maintain his calm facade.  While Krosst wasn’t as powerful as Archmagus Ikanthar, the energy coming off of him was comparable to some of the most famous of the Royal Knights that he’d operated upon.   There was no way to know Krosst’s exact level, but Micah would bet his last point of attunement that the Durgh had passed sixty years ago.

“I admire your sentiments Human,” Krosst shook his head, a grin exposing his tusks once again.  “Unfortunately, a god disagrees with you.  Ankros has commanded that we test our youth in combat, and it is not my place to argue with the Lord of Night and Struggle.”

“It was worth a try,” Micah smiled back wryly.  “I don’t suppose you’ll let me return to the surface and try this all again later.  I seem to have miscalculated your numbers when I was putting together my little war party.”

“Of course not!”  Krosst chuckled.  “It would ruin the surprise of our raid if we simply let you return.  Plus, it would be a shame for us to waste the opportunity to test our youth against a warrior as valiant as you.  I’m sure your death will be one for the skalds to recite around the fires for decades to come.”

“Monloff,” Krosst gently kicked the drummer.  “That means you.  I expect a proper poem about this young man’s nobility and valor for the feast tomorrow night.”

“Yes my Kahn,” the drummer replied in a musical baritone that seemed out of place coming from his tiny frame.

“Shit,” Micah replied, his eyes flowing over the army arrayed before him.  “Well,” he shrugged at Krosst.  “What’s that line your people say?  ‘It might be my time to die, but by the Sixteen I’ll die on my feet?’”

Micah slung his spear over his shoulder and turned to walk back to his daemons, already trying to calculate how to get away from the Durgh for long enough to teleport back to the cave outside of Basil’s Cove.  It would talk almost all of his mana given the distance, but it was theoretically possible.  After that, it looked like it was time to lay low until Reset came off of cooldown.

He wasn’t terribly excited with the idea of reverting to his thirteenth birthday once again, but after looking at the forces arrayed before him, this timeline appeared to be a dead end.  The concept was good, but his skills were still lacking.

“Wait,” Krosst called out, halting Micah.  “Human, what is your name?”

“Micah Silver,” he replied, pausing his slow walk back to his summons to turn and face the gigantic Durgh.

“Micah,” Krosst tasted the word.  “You’re facing death with the demeanor of a Durgh rather than a Human so I thought it only fair to give you the advice I would give a Durgh warrior.”

“You aren’t without options,” Krosst smiled, tusks winking in the dim light of the scattered patches of phosphorescent fungus.  “All sapients have the sacrosanct right to challenge the local Durgh Khan to single combat.  If you win, you may make one request or undo one edict of that Khan.  In this case you could stop the invasion of the surface.”

Micah snorted, “Khan Krosst, unless I’m very wrong, you’re higher than level sixty and I’m sure you’re aware that I’m below level forty.  I don’t suppose that you’d let me use a champion?”

“That isn’t how the old laws work,” Krosst shook his head sadly.  “However, I do see your point.  Let us make this sporting.  We do not wish to declare war on  Pereston, simply blood our soldiers.  If you and your… companions can survive a half hour of battle with my men and their beasts, you will have served our purpose.  There will be no need to invade the surface and harm your friends.  Does that seem ‘fair’ Micah Silver?”

“It certainly seems like a better bet than fighting you,” Micah answered, turning and walking to his waiting daemons.  “I look forward to entertaining your army.”

“And I look forward to ripping the wings off of one of your giant bugs,” Krosst nodded cheerfully.  “Come Monloff, we must let Micah Silver make his peace with Ankros.”

With that, the two of them walked away, leaving Micah to his thoughts.  Telivern’s hooves clicked against the stone as it approached him through the mob of restless daemons.  Unconsciously his fingers twined themselves in its fur.  

It was all coming down to this.  The days of training.  Almost a decade of not spending time with his friends and family, frantically trying to raise his skills and the swarm of daemons he would need.  The sleepless nights, haunted by those he had to leave behind in each abandoned timeline.

Despite everything, he was outnumbered and outmatched.  The Royal Knights never mentioned how many Knights they sent to quell the Durgh, just that it happened.  Given the numbers before Micah, it must have been a decent portion of the order.  

He removed his hand from Telivern’s fur and took the spear from his shoulder.  He might be outmatched, but Krosst had given him an out.  The Durgh might have thought it a favor to a doomed man, but that was only because they didn’t know his abilities.  

There was only a moment before Krosst started the attack to decide.  Fight, or run and hide long enough to reset.  His gaze flickered over the assembled daemons.

Anger flowed through him.  He was fucking tired of being kicked around.  Of being a plaything of the nobles or the gods.  Of being tossed from one disaster to another, only surviving by hiding like a roach wedged beneath a piece of furniture long enough to trigger his reset.

Trevor and Jo died because he was weak.  Bart died because he was weak.  But this time he wasn’t weak.  Maybe he wasn’t strong enough, but he certainly wasn’t weak.  Maybe he didn’t have any options before, but he had them now.

Telivern’s nose pressed against his arm.

Worry.  Danger.  Escape.

“Not this time buddy,” Micah brushed the buck aside.  “I can’t promise that I’ll make it through this, but I won’t bring you down with me.  Go to the entrance of the cavern.  If I don’t meet up with you in three hours, you’ve been a solitary light in a bleak stretch of my life.  You’re family to me, and I’ve seen too many family members die.”

The nose pressed back against Micah forcefully, pushing him slightly off balance.

Denial.  Support.

“No,” His voice caught in his throat and his eyes burned.  Micah turned to Telivern.  The deer’s eyes were plaintive.  Asking him questions beyond just the emotions and simple thoughts that could be transferred by contact.  Questions that Micah didn’t want to answer.  “I need you to go buddy.  This fight is beyond me, but it sure as hell is beyond you.  I can’t protect you and fight all of them.  If you stay, I’ll die trying to keep you safe.”

SUPPORT.

“I know,” Micah blinked, fighting back the tears that he’d been holding at bay since he turned down Jo.  “But the only way you can help me is by waiting for me.  Please.  I know it's hard, but I need you to do this for me buddy.”

Telivern snorted angrily at him before turning and walking away, Micah’s eyes on his back as it receded towards the cavern’s entrance.  Then, a horn blew, shattering the moment.  

With a roar, the Durgh began to sprint across the cave toward Micah and his daemons and there wasn’t any more time for self doubt.