Book 3: Sound And Fury

  Chapter 21 Locomotive Breath

  Under that distinctively familiar triangular peak, on the flat land where the little family of weirdos had encamped just a few short days before, an army emerged. Over two long summer days, busy slaves and laborers erected a chaotic patchwork of smaller encampments and pens across the dark, rich soil of the wide meadow.

  At the center, around the large gray boulder, a hasty stockade had been erected by unskilled hands. A number of simple cranes, gantries and scaffolds slowly reached for the sky, as workers continued their frenzied building project.

  Around that collection of structures, a ring of fine, elegant pavilions stood, housing the command tent and the temple knights, in their white tabards over shining plate and mail. Banners and pennants waved gaily above their high peaked fabric fortress, giving it an almost carnival atmosphere… Until one looked to the rest of the camp.

  All around the gay, colorful pavilions, squatted rank after rank of low, triangular tents of undyed canvas and oilcloth; all in orderly rows. Pikes and shields stood in neatly arranged stacks, awaiting the call to arms, while the legionaries in black leather armor cooked, mended gear and tended weapons around the cookfires.

  Peasant conscripts sulked around their pitiful hodgepodge shelters, made of boughs and scavenged tarps. Squads of alert legionnaires patrolled the conscript camp constantly, discouraging deserters.

  Farther out, dozens of rude pens, hastily built of crudely lashed saplings and vines held shivering, nearly naked masses of people in abject misery. They huddled together, despite the warm evening. The poor wretches were packed in, around five hundred to a corral. Guards watched over the scattered pens from the main encampment, though they seemed to be guarding the conscripts, rather than concerning themselves with the miserable slaves.

  “Too many many humans…” Daisybelle muttered into her silver ear cuff, which carried her voice to the other members of her team. To the humans, anyway. Her wargs could now hear her thoughts and experience her senses, thanks to the blessing of Sir Nunnos and the Beastie god. “We can’t kill this many, not even if we work overtime!”

  “No killing, Daze. This is reconnaissance, not a murder spree.” Amy whispered in her ear, bypassing the device and the team with her gift. “Most of these poor things look like a stiff wind could knock them over, so don’t even look at them too hard.”

  “Yub yub, slave soldiers. Nasty nasty magical bondage and dark arts. King Papa says nub nub to murdering slaves. Overseers, though…”

  “No killing, Daze. What will Gandree say, if you come home covered in gore?” Amy insisted gently.

  “He has so much to do already… I mustn’t give him more laundry to wash.” The little green nightmare finally agreed.

  “All scout teams, fall back, we have what we came for.” Count Liam called over the magical ‘comms’ earrings. “We mount up and withdraw to the rendezvous point. Remain unseen.”

  While Daisybelle and the wargs slipped through the sparse, alpine woodlands in silence, her comrades emerged from the forest and mounted their bikes in teams of two, widely dispersed around the invaders camp. The young Adventurers rode in silence, flitting down narrow trails and unseen paths to gather at a clearing three miles away, hidden in a fold of the landscape between two low hills.

  “The Hermit’s friends were spot on, uncle Liam… There’s a lot of armed people there and a buttload of what we’re all pretty certain are slaves.” Amy reported in, while Daisybelle made mushy-smushy with Gandree.

  “Where are mom and pop?” Amy asked, as she flopped down on a log and gave her kitty cat, Shiro a snuggle.

  “They’re working on the problem from another angle. Your dad said he needed to do some meditation and get in touch with the spirit of Earth.” Liam shrugged helplessly.

  “I have a special assignment for you and your team. I’m sending you to the dungeon mouth to keep watch. We don’t need any more surprises coming from behind and you guys can use Gary’s ocarina birds.”

  All six Ragamuffins opened their mouths to complain and were cut off by a fierce glare from the count. “If this becomes a battle, the six of you won’t make a difference. If this all goes south, you are to ride for duke Rumell and keep going until you get there. No questions, no complaints.” He barked in his most authoritative tone.

  “The ClownShoes are getting the same orders. They are going to run the Wheatford road and keep going, if this gets bad.”

  The handsome young count smiled and nodded to the kids. “Yes, sir; is the response I’m waiting for.” He declared firmly, looking each in the eye in turn.

  /

  In the town of Foresthome, countess Tawny had her hands full, supervising the muster and preparations. A steady stream of carts and wagons loaded with oldsters, women and children rolled up the Rumell road, headed for safety across the mountains.

  Most of the men were going as well and none could blame them… At least twenty thousand soldiers were a scant two day march from the town, while the count could field fifty warriors of his own warband and just shy of one hundred militia and sworn Adventurers to his banner. And then there were the Wards and their strange, uncanny and downright weird menagerie of lunatics…

  Tawny looked out over the inn, so brightly lit and still ringing with music. She could see figures bustling about, doing… whatever they did where no sane eyes could see. She shuddered deep down in her bones at the memory of the Necromancer’s cold, passionless voice and empty, hungry eyes.

  “Malus, where do we stand?” She asked wearily, wishing her husband were home… she needed to lean on him and feel his warmth.

  “Against a thousand slave soldiers, we could hold the castle until Wheatford and Rummel arrive… Against that horde?” The man’s battered, scarred face twisted into a wry smile.

  “Lord Liam has already given my orders, should they come down the valley.” He nodded to a sturdy shipping crate strapped securely to a cheery blue cart that lady Trelawny recognized from so long ago.

  “Gary’s silly little wagon?” She asked tartly.

  “If you follow orders and comply, you can ride away on that comfy looking seat. Otherwise, I’m to pack you in that crate and see to it that you get safely bundled away.”

  He gave his countess a wide, ugly grin and chuckled. “Your husband is a true Forestlord; as of old, my lady.”

  “Then we must see to it that we do not come to that, sir Malus.” She answered with a look of steely determination in her eyes.

  /

  Shai stood on her porch, watching the Tarots prepare for war… It was a strange sight to behold, even for a woman possessed of her widely varied experiences and open mind.

  In the two days since the arrival of the hostile army had been discovered, Garies had been constantly milling about, seemingly without goal or destination, engaged in some inscrutable preparations of their own.

  Yet, they always moved with a sense of purpose and urgency, in a swirling mob of brown and gray clad men. The few colorful Garies and the even rarer women stood out, as did the non-human Garies, like Hermit; the rest were very difficult to tell apart, from even a short distance.

  They streamed in and out of the houses and workshops constantly, accompanied by the terrific clash, clatter and bang of industry, from the open shop doors. Few of them carried anything, yet supplies began to stack up in neat piles around the garden.

  Armor, weapons, tools and odder things appeared, drawn from Gary’s capacious storage basement, where all the things he’d made, traded for and looted waited in organized madness, until needed.

  Each weapon, bike and suit of armor he’d made for his kids and family as they grew into and outgrew their gear had been stored away, ‘just in case’... Despite Shai’s constant suggestions that he sell off or salvage the stuff.

  Likewise, a vast armory of experimental weapons and tools lay, just waiting to be plundered, while the master of the house was meditating in a corner of the back garden. “Go on, lads… I’d see this stuff used, rather than lingering in his backside!”

  “Is that why it smells like that in here?” Gandree asked cheerfully, from behind the visor of Wilf’s old helmet.

  “Silly lad…” Shai muttered fondly. “Ye are nae skilled in arms, lad. It’s with Tawny and the others, ye shall be; riding for Port Rummel with wee Daisybelle, should things go sour.” She yawned and stretched, while the short, stocky young lad complained and griped into deaf ears.

  “Seven children I’ve raised, lad… Eight, an ye count my poor Gary. I’ll nae be moved on this matter.”

  Gandree’s very reasonable counter arguments went unheard and unanswered by the stone-faced lady of the house. Despite her child rearing credentials not having any bearing on the matter; she seemed to have decided and was not budging an inch.

  “There will be no valiant rear-guard action, ye daft fool. Our warbands will slip away in the woods and leave them scratching their arses in an empty town.” She snorted. “Aye, even if I must knock Liam in the head and carry his narrow arse out, over me own shoulders.”

  She grinned wickedly at the dwarf lad and laughed. “Those be Tawny’s orders, sure as the day is long.”

  “What of Gary?” Gandree muttered sourly. “He seems… off. I haven’t known him for long, but he seems…”

  “My Fool has promised me. He will nae do aught so foolish as he has done before. Not ever again. He shall be far from any action.” She bit off her words crisply, with a grim determination in her eyes.

  /

  In a far, quiet corner of the garden, Gary sat on the coarse lawn of freshly mowed wild grasses and herbs; enjoying the scent and the prickle of the stuff on his bare skin. With slow, deliberate and carefully spaced breaths, he drew the attention of the spirit of Wind to himself. With his lungs filled with the living essence of Wind and as much of his own Will as he could manage he held that deep, aching breath…

  Slowly and surely, he worked his fingers down into the soft, loamy soil of his back garden. Soil that was as much a manifestation of his own Will and magic, as it was real earth. His lungs ached to breathe, desperate to exhale the spent air back into the world; a demand he ignored entirely.

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  Wrists deep in rich, dark earth, the madman reached deeper, not with hands, Will or Mind, but with something more primal and far less complicated. He could feel it, deep inside… He was made of the earth, wind, water and sun, not much more beyond those elements, like every mortal being.

  Touching the spirit of Earth was just a matter of accepting that fact and being open to the process. There was no agency or any kind of intelligence behind the deep upwelling of subtle, patient and implacable Something… that he felt, just beyond his own aura.

  With a soft wheeze, Gary bent low and kissed the soil of his garden, exhaling his pent up breath into the patient earth below. He lay like that until early evening overtook the garden two hours before the first stars would begin to wink and twinkle above the valley of Foresthome.

  After a long, pleased sigh, he sat up and whispered to the faintly darkening sky: “Showtime!”

  /

  Dusk began creeping up on the pleasant little valley and the small town by the lake, when a force of dark clad men trooped out of Shai’s Forge and Foundry Inn. They marched in orderly rows, stamping across the bridge in a smooth cadence that neither shook the earth, nor made much noise. They followed the steady roll of a small drum corps, marching at their head, keeping time.

  They streamed by for a few minutes, striding two abreast in near silence. Most wore light armor and bore shining golden spears, while some few clattered along in heavy plate of sculpted wood and bronze.

  A short time later, a peloton of heavy armored riders emerged, pedaling for the Wheatford road. Mounted on every bike the family could scrounge together, they sped along the road, overtaking the squadron of marching footmen quickly. Before the sun kissed the distant mountain peaks, the whole troop was out of sight, though the soft thudding of a drum lingered on the soft, evening breezes.

  “How many, Malus? How many of them… of Him do you think there are?” Tawny asked her burly veteran lifeguard.

  “I’d guess two hundred… It’s hard to tell, when they all pretty much look alike and constantly mill about in formation. I knew he was weird… from the first time I met him.” Malus answered softly. “But, Damn!”

  “Two hundred…? I wonder how many more there are, somewhere out there.” The countess whispered quietly.

  “Gods above and below, my lady… Are you trying to give me the willies?” The grizzled veteran mumbled.

  /

  “Gary, ye promised me ye would be far from any battles!” Shai grumbled into his earcuff as they pedaled up the road with the mounted Garies strung out behind them.

  “Oh, yeah… Battles are super stupid!” He agreed merrily. “That’s why we won’t be holding one tonight.” He leaned back on his saddle and let out a long, lingering laugh that rang off the trees and hills like the call of night birds and crickets.

  “So why are ye wearing that awful bug armor, from so long ago?” She snapped. “Aye, tis a fine and shiny panoply of war…and frightful to look on.” She left that hanging, in silent demand of an answer.

  “I have to look the part, babe. It’s all part of the show!” He kept on breathing very deeply and releasing it very slowly as they rode; prompting a sharp glance from Shai, who was still dissatisfied.

  “The breathing thing?” He asked, on his next long exhale.

  “I’m working on something with Earth and Wind right now… Don’t worry, it’s a low energy thing that can’t hurt anyone, especially not me! Seriously, now that I have the trick of it, I can do this all day.”

  “Do what, lad of mine?” She asked wearily.

  “Hm?” He mumbled, as he drew in another great, chest swelling breath. “Breathing, of course!” He gasped with a short, explosive gust of laughter.

  “I haven't really been breathing since I was fourteen years old… I’ve been faking it, out of habit!” He grinned at her and caught his next breath on the same rhythm, falling right back into his pattern.

  “It’s coming back to me, now that I’m exchanging oxygen for carbon dioxide, like a real human!” He chattered merrily.

  “Aye, I have noticed that yer breathing sometimes does not match yer exertions, nor does your heartbeat behave as one would expect.” Shai grumbled, to keep him talking.

  “Becky and the kids have to breathe like normies; cause they are almost entirely normal. I was mostly undead for… an embarrassingly long time, that has lingering effects on the soul.” He whistled a short snatch of music into the trees, drawing a chorus of night creatures into song as they rode.

  “When the gods and fae got ahold of my soul, they kinda messed up how all my stuff works.” He chirped merrily as they rode, chattering on the open channel for anyone with a comms device to listen in.

  “Fae interference combined with divine influence to turn my neat and tidy imitation of human life, into a weird amalgam of a corporeal fae being, a living, sentient human, a spiritual being, something undead and a hefty dose of something purely animal and furious.”

  “What does that mean, lad?” She sighed, her eyes already aching from the abstract ideas he was dumping on her and the group at large. “Be clear, my love!”

  “Well… The most obvious symptom is my… difficulty working with or handling iron. If I lose focus or pour too much of my Will into what I’m doing, I wind up with a pile of rusty garbage.” He shrugged and chuckled softly.

  “Most of my brothers and sisters have the same problem, to a greater or lesser extent… Did you notice how few of them wield steel weapons or armor?”

  A soft whisper of side conversations erupted on the open channel, as the several Garies with ear cuffs relayed the info to their comrades.

  “I did notice. And I wondered… Tis nae why king Ghnash has no metal tools nor weapons, though?” Shai’s natural curiosity and deep passion for her craft shoved her burgeoning headache away, making room for more of this nonsense her boy was spouting.

  “Nah, that has to do with the Akashic Record, think of it as the occult blueprint of a living species. My people discovered and largely decoded the physical element of the record on my world, we called it DNA…” He smiled sadly, remembering his long lost homeworld.

  “Without magic, we couldn’t learn the true secrets of the record, but in the wider multiverse, hardly any species bothered to look into their own cellular structures, never mind digging deeper to find the basic structures of all life.”

  “Fool, please refrain from speculating further on an open channel… Some of these are family secrets.” The dour and calm voice of Judgement cut through all the quiet side chatter whispered on the magical winds and stilled the comms.

  “No dice, Judgey. I’m not in the Secrets game anymore. Now I deal in Misdirection and Chaos… And that means I’m going to do exactly what I want, how I want it. Get on board or get out of the way.” Gary replied merrily.

  “I feel like you guys are not enjoying our evening jaunt as much as we’d hoped…”

  “Fool… Er, Gary… We are riding toward an army of significant size… And the Necromancer has yet to return.” Judgement insisted, sounding less adamant and sure.

  “We are enjoying this journey just about exactly as much as we should.”

  “Well you’re missing out. This road is super scenic and the weather is perfect for it! Your wacky week-end weatherman predicts full moons and clear skies for tonight’s festivities.”

  /

  As evening began to fall in the foothills above Foresthome, around two hundred mostly men, a few women and a scattering of less easily identified beings marched and rode up a narrow logging road. They arrived in a barren clearing atop a low hill, ringed by a light forest of scattered pines and alders just before sunset dimmed the sky.

  The war-party called greetings to fifty mounted troopers of the count’s war-bands and a few local knights with their squires and retainers already present. Not too near those conservative veterans, just over a dozen young warriors and their supervisors lingered at the edge of the site, chatting quietly on their own.

  Rather than joining the veterans and knights, the fast moving riders and the marching foot troops engulfed the party of youngsters and oddities in a soft rush of quiet greetings.

  Gary and Shai dismounted and rushed over to join the kids, as the others lined their bikes and gear up, before joining the rapidly growing force of Adventurers.

  “Mom, pop!” Amy called, using her gift as much as her actual voice. “What’s the plan?” She demanded sharply, when no one else could hear.

  “Uncle Liam wants to send us to the far end of the valley and bustle the ClownShoes off to Wheatford!”

  “Any other time, any other place… and I’d be right there with him. You’re all still unranked, kids; this should be grown-up’s work.” Gary grumbled at his little blue songbird, looking a little gray around the eyes and cheeks.

  “And in this time and this place?” She asked sweetly, a smile nearly splitting her face in half. “What’s the plan?”

  “First, I’ll talk to the count… I need you guys close for this to work, can’t have you miles away when things go down.” He smiled weakly. “Your mom will tell you what we need you to do; I gotta go puke, then talk to the Lima Bean.”

  Once the musician vanished among his many, many brothers, Amy turned on her tall red haired mother, concern written all over her dark, pretty face. “Is papa ok? He looks pretty gross.”

  “Yer father is well… he has some working in his hands that is taxing and causes him some discomfort… but he is well.” She smiled thinly at her kids and nodded. “We shall help him, when the time is right.”

  /

  Count Liam was enduring yet another suggestion that the entire force flee for the nearest road out of the valley they could find, thinly disguised as a briefing, when Gary pushed through the crowd of local nobs and knights with his usual disregard for status and rank.

  “I know you already issued orders and I totally get sending the Ducklings, Muffins and Shoes out of town, bro. Thanks for that, but I’m gonna need my kids for this one.” He grinned at the count and shrugged.

  “You really want your kids near this mess?” Liam asked quietly, in the suddenly silent clearing. “In any battle, never mind one this absurdly lopsided, the youngest and newest troops are often the first to fall.”

  “Sure, if this was going to be a battle…” He agreed. “My ass is still unranked and overleveled. I need them to make it happen…” The tall madman in red lobster armor shook his head and swallowed repeatedly, while his face took on a greenish tint, behind his mask of insect mandibles.

  “Ugh… Sorry, I gotta go toss my tacos, real quick…” He grunted. “Just holding it in for the last two nights has got me feeling…”

  Before finishing his statement, the fellow rushed for a nearby bush and began violently hurling his lunch into the shrubbery.

  A few long, awkward minutes later he was back, a flask of water in hand, looking less drawn and pale, at least. “Like I was saying… If this turns into a battle, my whole family is gonna ride so hard and fast, we’ll be in Port Rummel before dawn.” He suppressed a belch and grimaced, before continuing.

  “I just need you guys to present a credible threat; while I play a few really dirty tricks.” He sighed and took a long stretch, while the knights, veterans and nobles complained stridently. “It’s all going to be incredibly educational… For everyone!”

  As the local people of importance and military authority shouted at the fool, Liam leaned close, speaking into the taller man’s ear. “You’re that confident? Is your dragon friend coming?”

  “Nope. He over extended himself, taking care of that nastiness down south. He’s dropping Ghnash off and dipping out through your necropolis forest. He has some kind of grave-yard travel gift… It sounds super creepy, even by my standards.”

  “So, we can expect one goblin witch doctor to reinforce us?” He asked very carefully.

  “Yeah, he’s bringing a lich-lord with him, so that should be fun, too.” Gary said with a wide, cheerful smile, despite the bags under his eyes. “Gods, I can’t wait to let this loose.” He mumbled awkwardly, clutching at his lower abdomen and grimacing again.

  “Are you doing shit-magic, again?” Liam asked carefully. “More of your… biological antics?” He demanded a moment later, when no answer was forthcoming. “Are you going to create an army of haunted, rampaging turd golems from their privy pits?”

  “Oh! Wow… I never thought of that!” The taller man gasped, while both men entirely ignored the agitated important people around them. “That might be the greatest idea you’ve ever had, bro. You’ve got a talent for this!”

  “I’m serious, Gary… We are sinking in deep shit and I don’t know if we’ve found the bottom yet.” Liam grumbled.

  “They set up around that big boulder, brother. That thing is eldritch as fuck…” He raised his voice to be heard by the gathered clucking and fussing noblemen.

  “That rock is also probably what they are after. They can’t have it… because it’s mine. If you knights and nobs wanna run for it, go on. My family and I have work to do.”

  “Gary, don’t antagonize my retainers and vassals. This is complicated enough already.” Liam spoke sharply to his friend, cutting through the chatter.

  “Gentlemen, despite appearances and rumors, this madman and his troop of…” Liam paused, in the midst of addressing his men.

  “Well, it’s probably best we not look too closely at them… In any case, I have confidence that their contributions will outweigh the… discomfort they will no doubt induce in many of you.” He spoke slowly and clearly, as the general din fell silent.

  Draped in his cloak of eternally falling, silver oak leaves, his lion mask dangling below his chin, the young count oozed confidence and reliability.

  “As the Forestlord of this domain, home of my ancestors and yours…This is my command: We will defend our homes with whatever means we may, in the face of this inscrutable foe.” His eyes roamed over the gathered men and small scattering of women in armor.

  “If you cannot follow my orders, ride for Rummel and protect our people on the road…”

  He smiled at the gathering of retired Adventurers, noble second sons and minor knights. “That too, is an honorable service. I will consider your duty done; whether you remain here, or escort our families to safety.”

  He ran his dark, commanding gaze slowly over the gathering of warriors and knights and chuckled grimly. “Though, those who protect our refugees will only hear the tales of those who stay to watch Ginger Dreadnought take the field once more.”

  Count Liam’s words were still fading on the night breeze, when the sound of hooves at the edge of the clearing drew all eyes. Six riders in heavy armor clattered to a halt in the gathering dusk. Five warriors in the brown armor of Wheatford’s ducal war-band and a short, burly figure in the gleaming, polished steel of Justice’s knights heeled their sweaty mounts to a stop and swung from their saddles.

  “Rolf, buddy! Ester! Nice to see you both!” The madman cheered at the squat, wide knight in silvery armor and his tall, silver horned, unicorn familiar. “Audrey and the wargs are over with the kids…” Gary began, until the beautiful equine sneezed a huge snoot-full of snot, right into his face… and open mouth. Gary struggled for a moment, working to clear his mouth, nose and eyes of a surprising quantity of sticky horse-boogers and wound up stepping in a very fresh and warm pile of horse-apples, fresh from the source.

  “She still hates your guts, my friend.” Rolf sighed, while his familiar pranced off to play with her friends, her tail flicking in equine amusement at her little prank. “I’ll scold her later, but it won’t do any good.”

  “Yeah… I get it.” He muttered, while using a fistful of pine needles as a brush to clean his armored boots. “I’m not everybody’s vibe.”

  He smiled at the gathered knights and nobles, seeming almost sane in the fading light.

  “I’m going to give them fair warning, then set it off. You guys, follow Rolf’s lead. Liam will be in the band, since he just announced the surprise reunion show!”

  The gathered men and women looked to the count, whose face was nearly split by a wide grin. “You heard him. Marshal Argent, gentlemen; sir Rolf Belen will take command. I need to tune up.”

  “We’re still waiting for Ghnash and Ward. Those two are going to be handling our stage show and pyro… Mariah should be delivering the audience’s final warning in just a few minutes.” Gary sank down into a comfy, cross legged seat and slipped into a light meditative state, without further conversation.

  “He’s feeling the strain… and I can’t sting him.” Kree muttered from behind her master’s ear. Her tiny, almost human face screwed up in anger and disgust. “He’s all gross and backed up inside.”

  “Best we leave him be, until he’s needed, then.” Liam murmured to the little insect girl. “I will keep these silly humans from bothering him.” He gave her a wink and stood, turning to his vassals and retainers with a smile on his handsome face and a strange guitar in his hands. “Prepare yourselves for battle, warriors of Foresthome. Things are about to get weird!”

  /