Born a Monster

Chapter 75: Born A Monster, Chapter 75 – Stomacorn A Monstehapter 75

Stomact is said that any army travels on its stomach. The intention of that saying is that the individual soldiers need supplies, most particularly food. If, for example, one has scouts and can attack carts of food-

"We can’t attack the carts of food.” Philecto said. “They guard them with four dozen soldiers, all of whom look like they have a melee and an archer class.”

"How can you tell what classes a person has just by looking at them? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Achmed said. [1]

"My brother and I can estimate a person’s archery skill by looking at them.” Awta said.

.....

"It’s a Skill called Assess Warrior.” Philecto said. “You get it when you have three or more Warrior classes.”

A skill that only certain people could unlock? That didn’t sound right...

But there it was in my System, Assess Warrior, locked exactly the way Philecto said it was. It looked like there was one of those for each type of class.

I was NOT going to try to unlock all of those. Not all at once, anyway. Path of Polymath first.

But focus, focus. Conversation going on RIGHT NOW.

"So if we can’t harass the supply caravans, can we harass the foraging parties?” I asked.

"Have we found a way around the kobolds?” Faraj asked. “Running away may have only taken two days in woodlands, but in the open plains, if they manage to track us, we’re in the open.”

"They are also in the open.” I replied. “There must be something we can do.”

"And we are doing it.” Dina said. “We follow them, we watch, and we look for openings. Nothing rash.”

She was right, of course. They only had to get lucky once to kill us all.

Our scouts noticed first, when the army turned slightly south. Directly toward a loyalist village.

There were just enough warriors to start an evacuation. The God Hand, red axe flag in front, did not stop or pause. They just walked through, destroying the village as they went.

Anyone they caught, they threw into chains. The army pursued the survivors until near dawn, not even pausing to bury the dead.

"This is horrible.” Faraj said.

"This is war.” Awta reminded him.

We had done, could have done, nothing. Nothing but throw our lives away. It didn’t feel like doing the right thing.

The cotton over my thoughts was beginning to thin.

We had meat in our meals, thanks to carrion creatures and birds. There were some grim adaptions in there, but nothing I could immediately afford.

The feathers went to the archer twins, who only kept one feather in three. The others were too small, or were bent, or had split.

In our down time, I listened and tried to learn the languages used by our Kathani. I say tried, because it was a mingling of Arabic, Sumer, Babylos, Farsi, Pashtun, Tros, Lavinian, and Turkish – and possibly others.

But mostly, we slept during the day, and moved ahead of the army at night.

#

Our own stomachs were also our vulnerability. Human size modifier is a multiple of three, then times might, then times level. Generally speaking, the minimal heroic level is ten. So while the pots of stew might sound like a wealth of nutrition, in truth it was barely enough to keep my team going.

And the fact that it was only four pots of stew should have been warning enough.

But there was no shortage of forage, and there were no leftovers for me.

So far as my companions cared, I could cook my own stew of vegetables when they were done.

Even tapping every source of magic I could, I only had so much to put into our food. It made me wonder how much large armies, like the one we were marching beside, consumed.

Well, that, and the skirmish. At first, I thought we were under attack. But as I emerged into the light, trying to shield my eyes with my raised arm, I noticed that our guards were crouched low.

"Hurmngrlspk?” I asked.

Achmed whispered something snide; Dina just touched a finger to her lips for quiet.

Not even a hundred meters from our campsite, Uruk battled Uruk. We caught only glimpses between the tall grasses, but whatever they were fighting over, both sides were battling in earnest, neither giving nor asking for quarter.

After about ten minutes of valiant struggle, one group broke off to our northwest. The other group harvested and looted, and they went to the northeast. North of us, the army trudged past, ignorant of events on their flank.

Dina stopped me when I tried to move in; she was right to do so. Within a minute, the defeated were back for their dead and wounded.

Twenty minutes after that, we were packing up the camp quietly; our distance from the army doubled before cots were re-assembled. We did not re-dig our fire pit that day.

When it began, it was over an oyster, of all things... Were the soldiers of that army truly that desperate for food? Or was something else gnawing away at their morale, at their unity?

Uruk warriors burn their dead; we learned to stay clear of thickets, or even individual trees. It was a sad thing, to see them weave crude pyres of brush and kindling, sometimes burning their dead three times before it took.

There is something wrong with hearing the wailing of the survivors, distorted by the dancing winds.

Villages, some of them loyal to the Red Tide cause, were chopped to the ground to feed the pyres.

"They burn their own hopes with each village.” Philecto said.

"They don’t need hope.” Achmed said. “They are three days from Hattan, and all the fearless loyal soldiers they could want.”

As if to ensure their friends who walked beside them would know rest, the pyres burned so much brighter as we approached Hattan.

#

They did a forced march, and where there in two nights.

The ceremony took place over some thirty hours, and it was not to raise the restless dead.

The heroes disposed of two ghouls who passed too close to the camp; the others came, feasted on the remains of sacrifices, and were chained. War beasts, shock troops for the army.

"Gods.” Said Rina, “There must be over a hundred of them.”

"Fools. They’ll never keep that many ghouls fed.” Achmed said.

Except, they did. Gods help us, we watched as they were turned loose upon village after village.

Just knowing – I ate enough to keep the biomass loan at bay, but my hunger was gone, and I couldn’t even keep grass down.

Who DOES that to their own people? What kind of ruler permits that?

And yet, in spite or perhaps because of the horror, more warriors arrived daily. But also, the army came across more and more abandoned villages, crops harvested early or burned in their fields.

"Scorched Earth”, Philecto called it. I don’t know who came up with that poetic appellation, but it was accurate.

The army stopped concerning itself with villages, and turned directly toward our employer’s center of power. They moved with a forced march, and would be there in two nights.

Their foraging parties were large and guarded, and sometimes belligerent with each other. It was all we could do to keep the pace.

"We can form up with the defenders.” I said.

"And do what, exactly?” asked Philecto.

"Rakkal will be in the center of his line, toward the front. With the support of an army to keep their army off us-”

"No.” Achmed said. “He will be ready for battle, and surrounded by his best troops. All of his battle magics will be deployed. He will be ready for us. There will be no surprise.”

"That is our employer.” I said.

"Our contract is to dethrone Rakkal.” Philecto said. “If I recall, we were to do this in a temple fortress. That down there is a fortified wooden wall. We will not be facing our foe in close quarters, with limited support. We will be facing some twelve hundred troops. I am perhaps the mightiest swordsman on this earth, and I cannot defeat two hundred soldiers in open battle.”

I decided I would take the issue up again when I saw the friendly troops.

And then I saw how hopeless it really was.

Fewer than six hundred troops stood with the Grand Chieftan of the Black Fist Clan. In terms of Uruk, each side had the same number of soldiers. And I couldn’t imagine starving goblins or the ghouls alone to be the sorts of things, alone, to turn a battle of this scale.

And if it were just us against Rakkal and his brothers, I still think to this day we could have won the day.

"Rina, you are also a swordswoman. Tell me what you see.”

"I see over five hundred warriors, preparing themselves for certain death. If we go down there, we are choosing certain death over life.”

#

I would like to say it was that cut and dried. From a nearby hill, I watched.

The village walls were too small to hold all the warriors, so they arranged themselves in a semi-crescent shape around its crown.

The attackers formed up, the ghouls in the front. It was three lines, the goblins to the left, with Uruk in the center and the right.

The ghouls charged, the infantry advanced at a shielded pace, and their archers slower than that, releasing well-trained volleys.

The defenders rained down arrows upon the ghouls, and then on the troops as the dead ghouls slowed their chain-brothers. But those two volleys were telling; the attackers had targeted the archers in back, and the sacrifice of the ghouls let them gain that extra bit of range that the hill provided to the defender.

.....

It would shame me if I did not mention that the defenders beat back the left wing of the attackers in disarray, folding it backward as though to encircle and over-run the center.

Rakkal was having none of that; the center advanced up the hill toward the Grand Chieftain’s flag. A volley of arrows fell on him and his siblings; some were wounded, Rakkal was not.

Rakkal was not the only one with Flash Step, and they held the melee until the rest of the troops could catch up. I’m supposed to describe a charge here, but there was none. They just walked forward, and hit the enemy line with what sounded like a single, prolonged clash of metal on metal.

The right flank was flagging behind the center, and may actually have lost numbers to be equal to the defenders. But they also held discipline, engaging line to line.

The attackers were clearly losing the battle of archers, until the front lines in the center were pushed back into their position.

It was brutal, and bloody, and long. But when the standard bearer of the grand chieftain was hurled through the air, screaming, still waving the flag, it was over.

The central archers withdrew into the city, and barred the gate. The archers from the flank also fled, and pounded on that gate. Clearly there was a disagreement about who was supposed to be inside versus outside the walls.

Rakkal’s right flank began pushing back the defender’s left, and the archers focused on taking out defending officers. Some noble soul had rallied the goblins, who slowed the advance of the closing wing.

The defending center was crushed against the wall. The wall just – shattered – when Rakkal reached it. Troops flowed in through the breach, but the flag of Rakkal began working its way up the collapsing flank. Soldiers vanished, replaced by corpses.

The defense ended; the slaughter began.

Two thirds of the goblins were lying on the field, dead or dying. One fourth of the attacking Uruk were likewise down.

Casualties among the defenders were roughly three times that; some escaped the battle, but it was clear that the resistance was ended.

And the quest continued.

#

[1] I know I shouldn’t have to remind you, these are Awta’s translations.