If you have not yet become aware of how cool Mongolian throat singing is, please check out Batzorig Vaanchig on Youtube. (If you like folk metal and you don’t yet know the Mongolian band The Hu, you should also check out their music!)
I was a little surprised by how many people were specifically looking forward to the Buduga, especially because I completely forgot they existed until I started writing this chapter. So, uh, in the interest of giving the people what they want, the T rating is getting stretched a bit. (and maybe something else is gonna be too-) Enjoy. :3
Chapter 58: The Naadam
Achiyo was not impressed by the current situation. Hien had suggested that they go with the Oronir and Budugan warriors, saying: “If all goes to plan, they will be fighting for us soon enough. What say you? Shall we go and greet our comrades-to-be?”
She was not yet sure that it was a mistake. She did not have the political knowledge or foresight to see whether this endeavour would benefit them in the end or not. And simply because Magnai of the Oronir was the most irritating, arrogant, unreasonable, heavy-handed, egocentric, tyrannical clod of a leader she had ever met was no reason to not see it through, since Hien and Kekeniro had agreed on it.
But she was not safe, her friends were not safe, and if it came to a fight it would not go well for them. And she did not know how to change that.
They had been brought to the Dawn Throne, the residence of the Oronir and the Buduga; whereas other Xaela lived in hut-like tents called yurts or gers, roaming the Steppe in search of fresh pastures year-round, the Oronir lived permanently in a huge stone castle on a high, carved pillar of rock surrounded by a deep lake. In the centre of the keep the Scions and Hien had been presented to Magnai, on his great throne of bone and leather and furs on a high dais flanked with flaming braziers. A huge volcanic axe rested beside him. A member of the Buduga stood near him, scantily clad in dark green.
“You conquered Bardam’s Mettle,” Magnai said, observing them with folded arms and glaring eyes from on high.
“As warriors of the Mol, aye,” Hien said, taking the role of spokesman, and while that might be his right as Prince of Doma, Achiyo was also fine with it as this was all his idea. “You are the khan here, yes? Why have you summoned us? Mayhap to propose a joint endeavour?”
“Nay, Doman,” Magnai said. “We shall not speak as equals. Born of the Sun are Oronir, and born of the earth are you. When I learned of trespassers, I bade my warriors take their measure. To flay them if they failed. But if by the grace of Azim they should survive their trials and emerge anointed, then bring them hither to pay tribute. Tribute, should it prove satisfactory, shall earn you the favour of the Sun. His beloved shall bask in his radiance, and their supplications be duly considered.”
“And if we do not wish to?” Achiyo said softly. This was what Cirina had warned them of, that they would be kidnapped to serve another tribe. She would serve no man who would ‘consider’ ‘supplications’ in such smugness.
“The defiant will suffer in shadow,” Magnai replied in a dangerously low voice. “It would be an affront to the resplendent Azim himself to refuse this generous offer when by rights you should be condemned. But, in lieu of tribute… Swear fealty to the Sun. Pledge to him your body and soul. Promise to serve him unto death, and you may know his glory.” He smirked. “A generous offer granted to but few… though perchance this is too merciful.”
She was reminded of Ravana, and the deal the Warriors of Light had struck with him. But she did not know if Magnai had honour like Ravana. Thus far, it did not seem like it. Nor did he seem so enamoured of fighting that they could cut a deal through a duel.
The other Xaela near him leaned over to Magnai and whispered to him. Magnai turned to Hien. “Hm. It seems our brothers of the Buduga want you. The men only. Like the Borlaaq and women – though you know them not either, I am sure. No matter. All you need know is that you will serve, one way or another.”
Achiyo gritted her teeth and suppressed any facial expression of contempt that she feared would escape her.
But Hien crossed his arms and said mildly: “That much does indeed seem plain. However, as we are but newborn warriors who know little of your customs, we struggle to conceive of ways in which we might be of service to the most gracious and illustrious Sun.”
Magnai turned a brilliant crimson, and burst out in fury. “You make mock of us, Doman. Do not do so again.” He calmed himself, though he was no less haughty about it. “You will be given a task. It will be difficult. You will carry it out. When you have accepted this, you may ask me what it is.”
They looked at each other and drew into a huddle. “Favour, tribute… how easily the language of tyrants tumbles from this khan’s lips,” Gosetsu muttered.
“Pretentious and preening he may be, but doubt not that he is a warrior,” Hien answered. “You saw the axe by his throne… and the rage in his eyes.”
“Right,” R’nyath said. “Don’t be sassy here. Got it.”
Achiyo glanced at her companions. Most of them would probably be fine, even given an arduous or dangerous task. But she was afraid for Kekeniro, and Rinala, and even a little for Lilidi and R’nyath, how they might be harmed, even by accident, by these rude, violent people. It tempered her anger. She did not want to ‘serve’ such a man, who seemed only to wish to crush their autonomy for his own amusement, to prove his ‘dominance’ and ‘superiority’; she wanted to defy him, to deny him any possible satisfaction, except that would end in a fight and she had better things to do than to die here to a self-important twit.
She called on memories. Percival would tell her to be patient, to endure whatever was necessary to make it through. Percival had gone through much hardship and humiliation without a single word of complaint to protect her, to teach her, to ensure that she would live and grow stronger. She would shame him if she could not do the same for her companions.
She took a deep breath. “I will see what he wants with us women.”
“Thank you,” Rinala said, deep relief in her eyes. She was scared.
Achiyo nodded encouragingly to her and stepped up to the dais. “What shall we do, O Magnai?”
He pouted at her. “…Were I Buduga, I might take offence. But I know better than to dismiss a woman outright. You demonstrate boldness… or recklessness. Time will tell.”
She held his gaze firmly. She would not bow her head to him, at least, not until ordered to.
For a long moment, he paused, looking at her more closely – then settled back, shaking his head a little. What was that about? “The Naadam approaches, and the Oronir will reign supreme once more. Such is the will of Father Azim. Yet only fools think to triumph by the grace of the gods alone – and we are not fools. Your task will be to aid us in our preparations. Baatu will tell you the rest.”
It seemed that this was a blanket command for all of them, men and women; they were all gathered around a yellow-robed Oronir man, who split them up to give them individual duties. Lyse and Gosetsu were given straightforward, undangerous tasks, far less intimidating than Achiyo had feared, and for a moment she nearly relaxed.
“You, the purple one,” the Oronir said. “Your name?”
“Tam,” Tam said. “What have you got for me?”
“You are to dive into Azim Khaat, below the Dawn Throne, and gather swordgrass from the lakebed. It is an invaluable ingredient in many medicines. Eight bundles will you bring.” He measured a diameter with his hands. “You will need to dive deep to obtain that which you seek… but that shall pose no trouble for a true warrior, no?”
“I guess I’m not a true warrior,” Tam said, smiling irritatingly. “I can’t swim.”
The Oronir stared blankly, then frowned. “Your jests are an insult.”
“It is no jest,” Achiyo said hurriedly. “If you force him to take this task, you will kill him.”
“And then I can’t serve anyone,” Tam said cheerfully. “What else do you have?”
The Oronir glared. “Do not mock me, insolent one. You will gather swordgrass.”
“I will do this task in his stead,” Achiyo said, stepping in front of Tam.
The Oronir blinked down at her. “But you are clad in heavy steel. Surely you can swim no better than this man claims he can. If he might die, you certainly will.”
Mithril was lighter than it looked, and surely was not necessary for the actual swimming. And that was reckoning without the Kojin blessing, which she was gambling still worked. Technically Tam had it as well, but it was plain that if he went into the water he would not come out again, breathing or no. “I can swim. I will get you what you seek.” She was more worried about the cold. Immersed in icy water, surely it would douse the warmth of her body in moments until she froze to death.
The Oronir huffed sourly, but nodded. “I had hoped you would see to the mending of our boots, but I shall switch the two of you. Take this charm – it will guard your body heat as you traverse the lake.”
The lake was dark, and freezing even if she did not grow colder, and while she knew what the plant she was looking for looked like, it was hard to find. It was quite clear to her that the Oronir – and Buduga – were foisting off all the most unpleasant jobs they could onto their new foreign slaves. Which was not illogical… but she still wasn’t happy about it.
And when Hien asked the next day if they could leave again, after they had all completed their tasks, Magnai had the temerity to say “We never intended to press you into our service, and tribute offered in good faith cannot be denied. To grant you naught in return would be an affront to Father Azim.” What did he intend, then!? What was his purpose with them?
And then the further gall to say: “However, the boon must be proportional to the supplications. What you ask for far exceeds what you have earned.” And set them more duties.
Hien seemed fine with this; he had not yet finished learning what he wished to know about these people. And so when they were not working, he sought out old Xaela to hear their stories. Their customs were very different from the Mol.
“I must ask,” Hien said, after hearing of the origins of the Oronir, “if it is your duty to defend the Xaela, how can you go to war with them in the Naadam? Is that not a contradiction?”
“If a father disciplines his son, does that mean there is no love in his heart?” countered the elder. Achiyo could not say that was her own experience – neither Tamehiro nor Percival had ever raised their hands to her once, only chastising her mistakes with words, and that did not seem comparable to the Naadam. Was it because she was a daughter? “Xaela are not wont to kneel. They must be made to – only then will they see reason.” Achiyo narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.
“I see…” Hien said. “Such is the way of the Steppe. Thank you, elder, for sharing with us your wisdom.”
They gathered a few bells later to discuss. “Mayhap I am being overly optimistic, but I sense that these Oronir may prove loyal allies to Doma under the right circumstances,” Hien said. “Their arrogance is rooted in the belief that they must act as caretakers of all Xaela. Therefore, if we can prove to them that we come as kindred spirits, seeking to defeat a common foe…”
“Even if the Empire hasn’t shown any interest in the Steppe?” Kekeniro said. “Or I guess you’d present yourself as the Oronir of Doma…?”
“Yes, for what is a king if not caretaker of his people?” Hien said. “I like to think I’ll be a little less presumptuous than Magnai – and a lot less obsessed with finding a wife – but I think I can find common ground. But mayhap this is a discussion for after we win the Naadam. Come, let us return to Magnai.”
Achiyo, her chores for the Oronir done for the day, and her training for herself completed, stood at the edge of the Dawn Throne’s wall and looked out over the great plain east away from the setting sun. The Steppe might be a place of pride and freedom, but confined in this fortress she was not feeling much of the latter, even if she could see endless swaths of frosty grass to the horizon between the two rows of hills. The weather was less intense than it had been. Spring would be upon them soon.
At least the people were, upon living with them, less abrasive than upon first meeting. It was, logically, nonsensical for every Oronir tribesperson to be rude to everyone all the time, and so everyone on both sides had slightly mellowed towards each other. Esugen, who managed most of the cooking, was in particular a lovely, sympathetic soul. Although his being so kind did seem to land him in the contempt of one or two physically stronger members of the tribe, but then those particular people were abrasive towards everyone, even their own kin.
She fervently hoped Magnai would keep his word to release them when Gosetsu, Kekeniro, and Tam returned from scouting the Dotharl. There were only a few sennights left until the Naadam, and if they were going to bring in the remaining Warriors of Light to supplement their numbers, they would need time to travel. And train together.
And then to retake Doma. And then to return to Gyr Abania. And then. And then.
And then to face Zenos once more, wherever their paths happened to cross. She would not attempt to strike him down in the night again. That really wasn’t her method of fighting, and she should not have attempted it. A true assassin would probably hate their target more than they loved living, and that was patently untrue for her. And Zenos had undoubtedly faced many assassins in his years, assassins more experienced than her, if not Yugiri; there was no advantage to be gained there.
So she would face him in plain combat, in the light of day, with no tricks or deceptions, and then she could stop making excuses for her failure.
A shadow fell across her, and she looked up to see Magnai standing over her. “What can I do for you, O Magnai?”
His baleful stare was unsettling, but she had dealt with too many men staring at her in Doma Court and in Ishgard to be unsettled. “When first you were brought before me, I dismissed you as too warlike. You have at least earned your place as a warrior of the Steppe, fierce and brutal, conqueror of magicked stone and steel. Ethereal you are not. Or so I assumed.”
What was he rambling about? Had he kept all the women back to pick a wife from among them? Was the great Magnai of the Oronir so desperate, that there were no suitable woman among his own people? She kept her thoughts from her face and waited for him to get to the point.
Belatedly she remembered that she hadn’t herself tamed a yol, so she still wasn’t properly a warrior of the Steppe. But she wasn’t going to bring that up.
“It is still true that you are surpassingly skilled in war,” Magnai said. “After your duties are complete, you train for hours. This I have seen. And yet there is a grace about you.” After learning to walk with a vase on her head, she certainly hoped so. “Perhaps you are my Nhaama. Look in my eyes, woman.”
He had never said her name. She was not sure he knew her name. Had this man ever heard of courting? She and Aymeric had been drawn to one another upon first sight, but she knew that was not the norm, that even such an event was no guarantee of success in love, and most people could still find happiness perfectly well without it.
She calmly looked up at him. “I am betrothed.”
His expression did not seem to change. “You have already found your Azim?”
She had her ring, but why should Magnai have to see it? “My betrothed is Ser Aymeric de Borel, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights of Ishgard. You may be the Sun of the Steppe, but you would never light my eyes the way he does. He is a warrior and a gentle man, and none can match him in his care for his people… and me.”
“Very well,” Magnai said. “That is all.” He began to walk away.
Who was going to be next? Lilidi was married, so she was safe. She had better warn Rinala. She had better take Rinala under her wing and not let her go anywhere alone until the others got back. No, she could simply tell him, could she not? He had been less offended by her rejection than he had by her directness. “Magnai.”
“What is it?” He turned to glare at her, offended that she had interrupted him.
“Rinala’s heart also belongs to another. She is not betrothed, but she sees no one but him. Do not trouble her.”
He nodded. “Then I will not waste my time.”
That only left Lyse, whom he had sort of also already written off… but she should warn her anyway.
R’nyath huddled in the corner of the Buduga hut and tried not to be noticed.
On one hand, he was surrounded by smoking hot, near-naked, six-and-a-half fulm tall Xaela men with intense eyes and sleek scaly tails, broad shoulders and narrow waists. On the other hand, he was surrounded by very strong, very dangerous, very scary Xaela men, and he felt very small. He was the shortest male in his immediate family, and his muscles tended more towards wiry than rippling. If any of them propositioned him, he’d have to consider his health and safety very carefully – both in declining and in agreeing. They’d be able to treat him like a toy, and such a thought was thrilling… and terrifying. And if they took offence, he’d be pulp before he knew it.
But so far, nobody had, and so his dilemma remained hypothetical. Actually, the only thing people in this tribe seemed to care about was fighting, and avoiding women, and that part they made kind of weird. Like when his younger sisters had made a treehouse and said ‘girls only! No boys allowed!’ and kept him and his brother out by throwing acorns at them, until Mother and Mom intervened, except gender swapped. Still, he was actually a little surprised they weren’t more gay, just from only being around men all the time. Even the half-naked thing seemed more rooted in machismo. But in everyday life they had to be practical.
In some ways that forced them to be… well, not less sexist than the Oronir, but differently. There was no such thing as ‘women’s work’ among the Buduga. There was just work. Everyone took turns at everything.
Why had they even requested him as a hostage? They only wanted tall, strong guys. They’d rejected Kekeniro for being too small, Gosetsu for being too old, Tam for… uh… well, he didn’t know about Tam, he would have thought he was closest to their physical ideal. R’nyath had impressed them in combat at least, fighting monsters out on the plain, but surely that wasn’t the only consideration. Supposedly they bolstered their numbers by these kidnappings, but he really didn’t fit in. At least Hien was there too, that made him feel better.
They didn’t even care much for music. The Mol had gladly sung him traditional songs, and happily listened to his Eorzean tunes, but he had to sneak off to the Oronir campfires to hear any sort of singing here. And it was so difficult to make those fascinating noises they made when they sang. The Mol had tried to teach him, and he’d been attempting it, when they sent him out on his own to tend herds or gather herbs or kill something. Hadn’t quite succeeded yet.
A Xaela nearby stretched, and R’nyath stared at the shifting masses of muscle gleaming in the firelight. He swallowed and looked away. At least Hien was here. Hien was quite handsome himself, with a rugged, breezy charm, a quick smile and quicker wit. He really didn’t seem like a prince, in the best way. R’nyath had noticed before, of course, but he’d been distracted by Cirina at the time. Now there was just Hien… and a pile of strapping big scaly men.
R’nyath groaned and scrubbed his palms over his eyes. Hien, Cirina, and Yugiri were some kind of complicated thing that he oughtn’t to get involved in and none of them would admit to. The Buduga would destroy him in bed if they ever got there, and their culture really didn’t interest him, and many of them had dull personalities too. But if unhealthy, why hot? asked his lower brain, and he told it to shut up. What was he going to do? Kekeniro had better get back soon. Tomorrow would be fine. Right now would be great.
“What’s the matter?” Hien asked kindly, and R’nyath groaned again. “Are you ill? You keep combing your tail.”
“Kinda,” R’nyath said. He hadn’t even noticed the nervous tail grooming. “Not physically, I guess. As soon as we’re out of here, I’m drinking myself into a coma. I don’t know how you’re waiting so patiently.”
Hien chuckled. “It’s not that hard.”
“It’s pretty hard,” R’nyath muttered. And caught the eye of Khori, one of the younger Buduga, who grinned at him and waved at him to follow him. Oh shite, oh shite, swive me, or don’t actually, oh shite. R’nyath’s tail bushed, and he quickly smoothed it back down, but he got up to follow.
Through the camp, round the back of the fortress, where there was only clouded moonlight, no torches, no others around to see. R’nyath made very sure his back was not to the wall. “So… uh… what’s up?”
The Buduga man scratched the back of his neck, under his shaggy mane of dark green hair. Was he… also feeling awkward? “Your friends will certainly return, will they not?”
“Y-yeah,” R’nyath said. They’d never abandon the rest of them, and if they got into trouble Kekeniro was smart enough to get them out of it. “They’ll be back.”
“Right. I thought as much. So you will not be staying much longer. It is a shame.” Khori took a step closer. R’nyath’s breath hitched in panic for a second. “So… what say you to seizing the moment, then? Spend the night in my tent?”
R’nyath blinked with wide eyes, trying to figure out just how the fortress had gotten behind him. He’d very deliberately left himself room to bolt. And yet there was stone pressing into his back, and Khori’s arms leaning on the wall on either side of his head, ripped pectoral muscles in his face, and piercing green eyes framed with black scales staring down into his, and his heart was thundering in his ears. He gulped. “W-why me?”
“Because you are very cute,” said Khori. “Your ears are so cute.” He touched one, a little more roughly than R’nyath would like, though that didn’t seem to be on purpose, and they twitched madly. Khori grinned. “Just adorable. Khöörkhön.”
“You don’t have to remind me what a twink I am compared to you,” R’nyath muttered, his sass overcoming his nervousness.
“What is a twink?” Khori asked, giggling a little.
“A guy who looks like me,” R’nyath grumbled.
“And I’ve never met a man with a furry tail before,” Khori said. “So what do you say?”
R’nyath didn’t say anything. First of all, his mouth was too dry. Second of all… he didn’t know what to say. He’d only known Khori a few days…
You only knew G’raha a few days, said his lower brain.
Yeah, but he’d talked incessantly with G’raha in that time before they slept together. He barely had a connection with Khori, or any of the other Buduga. And he didn’t see this spinning into a long-term relationship.
Why not? And, does that matter?
Well but he wasn’t actually a hussy, whatever his elder sister R’selhah might say… He wanted to be in love.
C’mon. Don’t waste this chemistry. You want him, he wants you.
He wasn’t an alchemist, but he worried this chemistry was going to explode and leave nothing behind.
No, it was just that he didn’t want to be a bottom for the whole rest of his life.
Khori’s confident smile was faltering. “No? You do not find me pleasing? I thought…”
“It’s not that,” R’nyath croaked out. “But like… well… I’m making it too complicated.”
Khori shrugged. “Then don’t. No strings attached. Life and death are unpredictable. So why not spend this time together?”
They really thought about death on the Steppe way more than he thought was healthy. “Just… be gentle, okay?” R’nyath said, unable to meet Khori’s eyes. “I’m a bard. I’ve got good vocal chords and I don’t want people staring tomorrow.” Or maybe he didn’t completely want gentle. He did kind of want to get slammed around by a guy twice as big as he was, get his tail pulled and ears bitten until his eyes rolled back in his head. The thought of it already had him biting his lips. But he at least wanted to start slow. At least he trusted that Khori would be nice to him, and if he was too rough it wouldn’t be on purpose.
“Certainly,” Khori said. “I have only done this a couple of times before, anyway.”
R’nyath glanced up. Was it… Could it be that he actually knew more about this than his partner? “Ah, I can help. Where are we going?”
“My tent. Would it bother you if Xangai joined us as well?”
“Ummm?!?!”
Tam was lost in his own head, which was maybe not a great place to be when standing near a volatile Dotharli mage. Sadu was glaring mostly at Gosetsu, her hands on her hips, bright blue eyes veritably snapping sparks in her dark face, looking ready to start throwing fireballs any minute. He should probably be paying attention, but then again that was what Kekeniro was for, right?
This whole land was weird to him. Besides the utter lack of trees, which left him generally unsettled and feeling unprotected overhead, the people were all of the moment. A necessity from the harsh land; he’d seen it among the griffonfolk, and the kalmaei who lived with them in their near-desert environment. For survival, the past was to be respected, but not treasured; the future was to be anticipated, but not to be obsessed over. Now was the moment of agency. Now was the only time to be fully perceived. Now was fun! Usually.
But the casual attitude towards death… that was not common among his people, even the griffonfolk. It wasn’t just the difference between his functionally-undying people and these short-lived species, though, as certainly most of Eorzea spent a lot more time thinking about it than he did, or at least than he had before he came here, but here on the Steppe it seemed hard-baked into every tradition he had seen so far. And nowhere was it exemplified more clearly on the Steppe than here among the Dotharl.
He’d never heard of reincarnation before. What a wishful concept it would be in his own land! And yet… this whole world was nuts. Energy and magic and life and matter were all connected in ways that were at present beyond him to understand, and who was to say that these people’s souls did not return to the so-called Lifestream, but kept themselves in one piece and went around looking for Dotharl couples copulating to install themselves into the resulting foetuses?
Why didn’t everyone believe in reincarnation, then? The closest Eorzea had come to this idea of an intact soul after death was ghosts, and yes, he’d heard about Vivienne and her team encountering the soul of a poor girl who committed suicide in Tam-Tara and then ended up undead in Issom-Har, although that was mixed up with voidsent possession or something. He’d felt Haurchefant’s presence on the Steps of Faith, familiar but incorporeal hands steadying his as he struggled beside Alphinaud to free Estinien from draconic possession. Heck, Nidhogg himself counted as a ghost, even if anchored to his eyeballs. And then there was the puzzle of the Ascians.
But then… he wondered if Haurchefant were really dead – no, that was the cold truth, he had held his body only a few weeks – months ago… it was his prince who lived – probably – which was good. And Tam was the one in between. It was still difficult to remember that he – Haurchefant – was not alive, when he had been alive only a year and a half before. But there was a saying among his people: “Love once, grieve sevenfold”. He had only known the boy a couple years, barely enough to really know him – and it was going to take him a lot longer to cease remembering every day. The others seemed to have already forgotten, caught up in their constant problems in the present. Maybe they thought he had also forgotten. Tam paid attention with half a mind, the rest wandering through the past and future. For he was not of this land, nor of the griffon realm, but from the land of unicorns, where the past was almost mystical in nature, encoded into the rings of pine trees and layers of snow on the glaciers. And his prince from the land of the moon-lovers, the star-children, who dreamed of the future as rivers flowed and fields grew, and they’d imprinted their cultures on each other.
Dotharli beliefs, whether grounded in reality or not, were all the same to him. He really couldn’t judge other cultures, not when his own was so unnecessarily complicated and hide-bound itself, very worthy of judgement and ridicule. They believed it, and so they didn’t care when they died, or what gender their name was, and if they didn’t, he had no reason to either. Even though they died faster than they presently reproduced. That seemed an issue.
But honestly it really was surprising that beliefs like this weren’t more widespread on Hydaelyn. Ghosts were real-ish, but they didn’t reincarnate. And if they did, they weren’t recognized or looked for, even though it was widely acknowledged or at least theorized that souls came to and went from the Lifestream. A sort of soul cycle. Of metaphysical soul goop. Everyone was bits of past people. …He’d said ‘soul goop’ and now he wanted to know if ‘soul goop’ had a flavour. He wanted to say mint. He didn’t like mint. If his soul tasted like mint, he was going home. He’d prefer apple. Blueberry was even better.
Gosetsu was really struggling. Kekeniro, who didn’t want to get involved, was capitalizing on his innocent child-like look to make them all think he didn’t understand one way or another. Tam leaned back against the fence with his hands in his pockets, ignoring the static flickering in his right eye, and smirked at Sadu. “So you find glory in battle, and even more in dying in it. What’s your policy on leaders of said battles?”
Sadu smirked back. “The strongest is the leader. And that is why I am khatun.” She scowled ferociously. “At the moment is Magnai of the Oronir khagan of the Steppe, but I swear that will change next moon. I hate that posturing dzo!”
“So, if the khagan gives an order you find distasteful, do you still do it?” Kekeniro asked innocently, but with a glance at Tam. He didn’t need the assist, but he appreciated it.
Sadu curled her lip. “It depends on the order. If it is to go into battle, then yes! We shall follow and rejoice in the trembling of our foes, no matter who they are. If it is some nonsense about Azim and Nhaama, then no. They will die first.”
“Right,” Kekeniro said. “Okay, that makes sense.”
And indeed it fit in to what Tam had observed going around the Steppe. The Qestir, perhaps, would not be interested in fighting, whether for Doma or not. But most of them embraced violence – even the Mol, who everyone else called ‘gentle as lambs’ – ha! Lambs that had barbed arrows no less accurate than the Dotharl’s. But he was reluctantly coming around to the idea that about 80% of the tribes would happily follow Hien if he pointed and said ‘kill those guys’, with no qualms at all. At least Hien could be satisfied that he was right.
There wasn’t anyone else to talk to, so he talked to Kekeniro in a spare moment alone. He wasn’t Alphinaud, but he’d do. “Call me selfish, but who wants to die for foreigners they have nothing to do with, just because one of those foreigners told them to?” Fighting the lugwuarthei had required cooperation between different nations. That was different, more akin to the Alliance.
Kekeniro raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you risk your life with ours every time we fight a primal?”
Tam gave him a faint grin. “Touché. But if I stopped, you wouldn’t order me back to it.”
Kekeniro shrugged. “We’re adventurers, not tribespeople. The ethics and cultural aspects of that kind of thing are beyond me, thank goodness. I just get to play speed-chess with you all trying to keep you alive.”
“Is that why your grimoire now looks like it can summon Omega?” Tam asked, glancing at it. “To play speed-chess with?”
“Do you actually want to know?” Kekeniro said without much hope.
“No.” If Kekeniro knew how it worked, that was good enough for him.
They headed over to Gosetsu, who was talking with Koko, a Dotharl man with a feminine name from a past incarnation. Where did their names originally come from…? Gosetsu saw them coming and disengaged from the conversation with a bow, and came to meet them. “This has been an educational experience, to say the least… Yet everything we have learned is common knowledge to the people of the Steppe. ‘Twill not be enough to earn our comrades their freedom. Naught less than the Dotharl’s plans for the Naadam will suffice, I fear.”
“Do you think they have plans?” Kekeniro said. “Sadu seems very much one for simply pointing and shooting spells.”
Gosetsu made a helpless gesture. “Surely they have some stratagem to fight as one. Well, I have never been one for skulking about. I will go to Sadu and see what secrets I can prise from her lips!”
“Sure, that will be interesting,” Kekeniro said, and trotted along with him. Tam followed in a more leisurely way.
Sadu greeted them with a scornful smile. “The spies return. And they have learned naught.”
Gosetsu fixed her with a determined look. “Mayhap so, but no longer! Though you hide it well, I know you have devised some manner of cunning stratagem for the Naadam! Out with it, I say!”
Sadu folded her arms and stared coolly at him. “We are what you see, Doman. We are Dotharl. Others rely on tricks and traps. Subterfuge. Lies. We have need of naught but our own strength. We meet the enemy in battle and kill him. That is why I cared not what you did from the first. There is naught for you to learn. Tell your masters to meet us on the field, and make ready to ride with their ancestors.” She smirked wickedly.
“…Your confidence is plain, as is your strength.” Gosetsu glanced around. “Yet you are not the most prosperous of tribes. The Mol you mock are few, but so too are you. Why?”
Sadu stopped smirking and gave him a more serious look. “…Though a glorious death is to be celebrated, it is yet death. While we kill many, many are killed in turn. In the wake of our battles, the soil drinks deep of the blood of the fallen, their bodies piled high. Not all are born again. Only the bravest. Yet one cannot return unless there is a vessel to inherit the soul, and if warriors die ere they birth children, then that is that. Even the brave warrior who finds a vessel will for many years remain a shadow of his former self. It falls to his elders to endure until he is ready to accept his responsibilities.”
She looked over her camp, at her people. “Ever will we meet our enemies in battle without fear. Such is our way, even when our numbers dwindle. If we die, so be it – but know that we fight to live, not to die. Dotharl train and make ready for the day – but they do not rush to meet it. Not until we have done our duty.”
“Oh, good,” Tam said. “I was wondering if you actually didn’t care.”
Sadu gave him a sharp look, hands twitching as if she wanted to reach for her thaumaturge staff. “We do not fear it. Apparently you do not care about yours.”
“He does give that impression sometimes,” Kekeniro said. “I would apologize, but I can tell you he’s not sorry at all.”
Sadu rolled her eyes. “You are no coward, but certainly a lunatic. Yes?”
A Dotharl ran up and knelt to her. “Sadu Khatun. Geser’s body has been given to the sands.”
“Then our part is done,” Sadu said, and gestured to the man to rise. “Rest, warrior. The Naadam draws near, and you will need your strength.” She turned back to the party. “If you intend to fight in the Naadam, you should return to the Mol and make ready. But know that when next we meet, you and yours will die. …Or you could fight for us and live. Think on it, travellers.”
Kekeniro smiled. “Thank you for your counsel.” He exchanged a glance with Tam, as Gosetsu inquired after the dead man. The little tactician was confident. But he didn’t want to give anything away to Sadu. Ah well, she’d probably think such confidence misplaced if she noticed it. But he’d trust in the fellow who’d brought them through conflicts big and small to this point.
If he died here, before one of the healers could stuff his soul back into his body, where would it go? What would it do? He was not born on Hydaelyn, his energy did not come from her. Would it dissipate and get agglomerated into Hydaelyn’s mass, or would it follow the Warriors of Light around and piss off Vivienne on the rare occasion he could summon the strength to interact with them? Or would he be reborn in some ignorant baby, devoid of all five millennia of memories, with only the potential to someday regain his skills? If that happened, he would surely not be a kalma; would he ever regain his skills if he didn’t have the same lifespan to do it in? Would this only add to his confusion over his state of living?
Such questions were unhelpful thought experiments. If he died, he died, and whatever happened after was not up to him, nor would he be able to care one way or another. If he lived… then there was always the next journey.
The Oronir released them all. The Naadam drew closer. The remaining Warriors of Light, summoned from Doma, arrived, and were met fittingly in Reunion. Vivienne walked up first to Achiyo. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
Achiyo blinked at her. “You were not wrong in your points, regardless of your delivery, and that was moons ago. I have long forgiven you.” Had she been worrying all this time about leaving that unresolved?
“Yeah,” Vivienne said, tension easing in her shoulders. “All right. Who are we fighting?”
“That’s my question!” Chuchupa cried. “Anybody seen a lass named Dorgono? I heard she lives hereabouts!”
“Can’t say we have,” R’nyath said. “What’s she like? What tribe is she?”
Chuchupa grinned. “Unhinged! With an axe! No idea, don’t remember!”
“We met an unhinged woman, but her name wasn’t Dorgono,” Kekeniro said. “And she’s a thaumaturge.”
“Let me introduce you to Hien and Cirina,” Achiyo said, struggling to bring them all back on track. “Cirina is of the Mol, the people we are aiding in the Naadam.”
“Pleased to meet you!” Hien said. “How is Doma?”
“Doma has made it through the winter,” Aentfryn said. “Yotsuyu lashes out periodically, but thus far has not been able to do anything that could not be set right shortly. Tension simmers beneath the surface; most do not know the true cause for your delay, in case of spies, but they have been told spring will be the time for action.”
Hien nodded. “I am glad to hear it. I hope to reward their patience in full.”
Cirina stepped forward. “I am also glad to meet you; I have heard so much about you. As mighty warriors as your friends, I see, and that is very welcome. Please come with me to Mol Iloh, and we shall allow Kekeniro to impart his strategies to us.”
The Naadam was on the morrow. The Mol had turned out their foodstores; no one would go to sleep hungry this night. Everyone had trained hard; Kekeniro had drilled everyone until even the most inexperienced Mol participant could smoothly find their place in formation. They’d had mock battles and sparring duels to try to prepare everyone for the confusion of fighting en masse. Achiyo was still anxious, but they had done all they could. Now their work could only be put to the test.
At the feast, Cirina stood to address the tribe. “My friends. We are come to the final day of the Tsagaan Sar. To the Naadam. The battle will commence with the rising of the sun. The Gharl will scatter the soil, and the Steppe will be unbound. A great ovoo will erupt from the earth and call for a new khagan. All will converge upon the light, and the warrior who claims it will win the day.”
The Mol erupted in nervously excited chatter. “How my heart throbs with excitement! I can wait no longer for the Naadam!” “A-all shall be well. I must have faith in myself and my yol…” “The khatun says we will win, but… will we?”
Achiyo stood beside Cirina. “We will. They underestimate us, and none know our true strength as comrades. We will fight, and we will win, and we will return to Mol Iloh together.”
The nervous Mol who had spoken last looked up. “Yes… Yes, of course! I must have faith! I must have courage! I have not always understood the motives of the gods, but I have accepted their guidance ever since I was a child. If they would have us fight, I must believe they have their reasons. So I shall fight with all my might!”
Achiyo nodded and smiled at her. Though inwardly she was praying to her own gods, and she knew several of the others were praying to the Twelve. She did not come from a culture where the gods knew the future and willingly imparted it to mortals, as the Mol seemed to. The future was unknowable to her.
But, as they had decided after Alexander, that only meant that the future was theirs to shape by strength of will. They’d done the groundwork. All there was now was to fight.
The Naadam dawned clear and cool. The snows were largely melted and the grass was greening. The Mol who were bound for battle gathered on the edge of their camp, gazing out over the plain, searching for… Achiyo did not know what.
“Though I know how much this battle means for the future of Doma, a part of me is glad simply for the opportunity to repay my debt to the Mol,” Hien said, and took a deep breath. “I must say, it’s been a while… Is everyone ready?”
Gosetsu laughed boisterously. “Hah hah hah! A samurai is always ready. You shall remember this soon enough once I have taken to the field.”
“There,” Cirina cried, pointing to a glimmer of light rising from a distant hill. “It begins, Grandmother.”
“May the gods guide you to victory,” Temulun said, and gestured that they should set out.
“Grant us favour, O Mother of the Dusk, and to victory guide the Mol!” Cirina lifted her bow, mounted her yol, and together the tribe took off to come closer to the light with a rush of many massive wings. “Come! I will lead the way!”
The light – the ovoo – was near to Reunion, several hours away across the valley. But long before they arrived, they met with other tribes in the air, and for a few moments the sky was a confused tangle of grey feathers and arrows that had missed their mark. The yol were screeching, and Kekeniro had to project his voice greater than normal for his orders to be heard. He was splitting the tribe into those who would defend against the ones who would bar their way, and catch up later, and the core group who would press forward against all odds. Achiyo clung to the back of Hien’s yol and leaned forwards as he banked towards their target.
The weird light coming from the ground was in sight, and it was time to get off the big birds and get to business, at least for Chuchupa. She dropped from the back of Lilidi’s yol, probably before it was technically safe, but she cast a defensive spell, she didn’t care. Wow, there were a lot of tall folk around! They grew ’em as big on the Steppe as they did in Coerthas, apparently. That was fine, their kneecaps would fall before her all the same.
“There it is!” cried Cirina, the saccharine-sweet young lass who led the Mol. “The ovoo! We are not too late!”
“The fighting is most fierce!” cried Prince Hien, brandishing his katana. He was pretty decent for a prince. Actually better than Achiyo’s lad, in her honest opinion. “No matter – charge!”
That was exactly her plan, joining in the melee, waving her axe wildly. It had been suggested that killing the other combatants would not be helpful in bringing back a Xaela army to Doma, so she’d have to hold back a bit.
She was keeping an eye out for Dorgono; she’d been home for moons, hadn’t she? She’d be involved in this, surely. Waste of her skills if she wasn’t. Chuchupa wanted to fight her again. So maybe she was a little louder with the “yarrharr” than normal, and looking around at all the shorter Xaela for one with white hair. But no – there was a madly cackling thaumaturge with white hair off in the distance, but her skin was a completely different colour and that wasn’t an axe at all.
“There’s an opening!” Kekeniro called. “Matamata formation!”
Translation: get the ovoo-thing. Chuchupa found it right by her, and jumped to it. Maybe she wasn’t a fancy warrior of the Steppe, but she was a warrior all the same, and they better respect that! But almost as soon as she touched it, sending aetheric resonance rippling over the field, she found herself yoinked away by a Holmgang, and ended up tumbling head over heels in front of a towering fur-covered fellow. He smelled funny, and looked like he used too much grease in styling his hair, but the important thing was he had a big axe. “What folly is this?” he demanded. “Who dares to challenge the Sun?”
“Me name’s Chuchupa, an’ ye better avast afore ye lose yer toes!” Chuchupa cried, bouncing up again to face him. Dorgono might not be around, but maybe this guy would make up for it! She heard Kekeniro calling the abort on the ovoo-formation. Not a surprise. They might have to try a couple times.
“Another foreigner to aid the Mol,” he scoffed. “Bear witness, Father Azim! The soil shall drink deep of blood this day!”
Chuchupa swung at his shins; his robes absorbed a good deal of the impact, but he stumbled and went flailing off balance. She aimed to bonk him in the head as he bent over, but she didn’t want to use the axe-blade if Kekeniro wanted them all alive, and getting the haft in position slowed her down. He swatted her back and she jumped, grinning. Yes, this was her kind of party.
“The most radiant brother is here!” Hien commented to Achiyo. “A pity.”
She was having trouble keeping track of everything. There were Xaela of five different tribes before her, Hien and Rinala beside her, Mol hunters behind her, and the yol were scrapping overhead to defend their masters. The noise was terrific.
It still wasn’t the worst battle she’d been in, but she could hear even Kekeniro beginning to falter between orders. There was just too much happening too fast, and everyone was becoming scattered across the field, small pockets of different tribes coming together and breaking apart like bubbles. The clash of weapons and the cries of pain must echo from the distant mountains. Kekeniro was gradually pulling everyone back, trying to consolidate their numbers into a concerted mass that would be harder for their opponents to break.
Magnai was possessively encroaching on the ovoo, but he had not made a move to claim it for himself yet. Instead, he swung his axe at Chuchupa, yelling about brotherhood and his superiority, and she bellowed back braggardly pirate cries. He was interrupted by a fireball that singed the ground before him.
“Hearken to the chaos, brothers!” cried the thaumaturge – that must be Sadu, as Gosetsu and Kekeniro had described her.
Magnai turned to her with a scowl. “So, the mad udgan comes!”
“Heh,” Hien muttered. “If we want to claim the ovoo, we’ll need to deal with those two first!” Certainly Kekeniro knew this, but Achiyo’s duty was clear, and she would wait for orders before attacking.
Kekeniro had no time or spare brain power for anxiety, but this was pushing him to his limit in a way that he hadn’t been with fighting singular great wyrms. Strategies were difficult to execute against a disglomerate mass of foes who had no particular interest in using strategy themselves, and all of whom had a different philosophy. The Oronir and Buduga banded together to try to overwhelm their enemies through strength of numbers; the Adarkim did the same with a single tribe; the Dotharl threw themselves headlong into the exact opposite, ensuring they were outnumbered so as to surround themselves with targets. The Noykin used no yol at all but only horses; the Dazkar were heavier with archers; the Kha… hang on, why was there a familiar energy signature from the Kha?
He looked up with his eyes, though his view was largely obscured by robes, tails, and weapons, but he caught a glimpse of the warrior he was looking for. Aghai Kha, who had been in Eorzea – had been in Mor Dhona when the adventurers of Revenant’s Toll challenged the Crystal Tower. Nice to see him again! If from a distance, and on another side of conflict. He’d try to keep him alive too.
Absent-mindedly he ducked a stray spear and commanded Garuda-egi to blast some Oronir who were getting too close to Aentfryn. They had to hold out until the right opportunity appeared. That, at least, was a place that strategy worked perfectly even in this environment.
“I don’t like the looks of those giant stone thingies!” Lyse called, pointing at where Sadu had summoned two chuluu statues to aid her in channelling a massive amount of aether… she was planning to wipe the field entirely. Well, nobody was going to stand for that, and the Dotharl were a bit too few to properly defend them as temporary alliances were formed.
Dorbei had taken a hit. Kekeniro moved Vivienne to cover him and Rinala to heal him, and another two Mol to take his place. His grimoire wasn’t blaring at him so nobody was badly hurt. But in confusion like this, that could change in an instant. He had to keep alert.
Lilidi sprang from tussock to someone’s shoulder to the top of the stone chuluu, driving her sword through the top. That did it, splitting it in two, and it crumbled, taking Sadu’s spell with it. Lilidi leapt back down with a flip to conserve momentum, sharing a grin with her husband back behind Mol lines, then turned her attention to the Buduga tribesmen who had moments before been helping her to destroy it. Her instinct was right on, as they levelled their spears at her, but good luck to them! She was quick as smoke, and they were unused to fighting someone so small in stature.
She heard Magnai growling. “Bow down before me!” He raised his axe, casting a powerful defensive spell that radiated magmatic heat; it washed over Lilidi, making her sweat more.
“Ye’d think I was short enough it didn’t matter!” Chuchupa bellowed back, and Lilidi grinned. Lalafell supremacy! Wait, what was…? Uh-oh.
Sadu had summoned more chuluu, seven or eight of them or maybe even more. She wanted to have enough that it would be impossible to destroy them all in time. Well, if you wanted speed, Lilidi was your girl. She hurled herself at the nearest one, meeting Cirina and Hien there with a shrill warcry.
Everyone had gone after Sadu’s chuluu. Kekeniro yelled. “Matamata formation! Go go go!” He saw some of the Mol hesitate, but this was their chance! It was a gamble, but all the others were distracted. The Warriors of Light were swinging into place. Lilidi had made a face, for she was in the thick of it as she always was, but she trusted him intimately and unconditionally, and was already streaking back to her position.
The first one to the ovoo would be the one to attempt to claim it, and the rest of the tribe would defend them. And though her legs were no longer than his, his wife was already there, sheathing her sword smoothly and slamming her palm into the scattered earth.
The noise intensified. No one knew whether to keep attacking Sadu’s chuluu, and ensure that no one died from her ginormous spell, or to prevent the Mol from seizing the day. The Buduga redoubled their efforts against the chuluu. The Oronir turned to face the Mol. Aghai Kha stared in surprise – and turned away to hit a chuluu.
Kekeniro backed to Lilidi’s side. The aetheric ripples from her attunement were getting stronger. Just a few more seconds…
Vivienne braced herself for another blow against Cronus, but it did not come. Sudden silence had fallen, and no weapons moved nor spells flashed. There was only the wind… and the panting of hundreds of warriors and the wingbeats of dozens of yol.
Sadu’s voice was low in disbelief, but it still cut across the field. “The Steppe has spoken…? Then the khagan is…”
Everyone was staring past Vivienne at the ovoo. She turned and saw Lilidi rise from kneeling, a glow about her. The Lalafell drew her sword and brandished it, the sun glinting off it.
“We have won…” Cirina exclaimed, in disbelief herself, then cheering. “The Mol have won! The Dawn Throne is ours!” She ran around hugging people – Hien, Achiyo, R’nyath, Rinala. Not Vivienne, of course, not that she wanted a hug, hmph.
“We did it!” Hien said, returning his part of the hug, and then bowing to Lilidi. “And you, my lady… you… you were magnificent. Magnificent… and, uh… not a little terrifying.”
“Isn’t she just?” Kekeniro sighed dreamily.
“Thank you,” Lilidi said, smiling, and blushing at her husband.
“What a strange tale this is become,” Sadu said, putting away her staff and shrugging in disappointment. “To think I suffered them to live…” Kekeniro gave her a sheepish smile. Vivienne stared hard at her.
Magnai had not lowered his axe. “On your guard, udgan. The wind warns of men in iron.”
Huh? Vivienne turned again, and saw coming up the hill from Reunion – a detachment of Garleans, equipped with big war machines. And in front of them… that annoying bugger who’d escaped her blade since babysitting Nero at Carteneau.
The Roegadyn’s eyes fixed on her, of course, in the middle of it all, and he laughed. “Hah-hah! I thought I’d find you here, Eorzean! Dearest of all my enemies! Today’s the day I finally get to kill you! And then they’ll give me a shiny medal, and my choice of posting! Bloody perfect, it is! Well, go on, then! Kill her! Kill ’em all!” The Imperials lifted their gunblades and jogged closer. The machines scuttled. They would be on them in… well, a minute, they were still a ways off.
Hien raised an eyebrow, glancing at Vivienne. “Dearest of all his enemies, eh? Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Vivienne grunted. “You’d never know it by how fast he runs away from me.” What about Lyse or Gosetsu? They had been at that first battle as well.
Lilidi strode to face Magnai and Sadu. “Hear me, honoured warriors of the Steppe! Our enemies intrude upon this sacred ground! Have you yet the strength to oppose them!?”
Sadu scoffed contemptuously. “You forget to whom you speak, Eorzean. We are the undying ones. We are Dotharl.”
Magnai glared at Sadu, then at Lilidi. “If this be the will of the Mol and their khagan, so be it. The Sun shall abide by the law of the Steppe.”
Lilidi smiled fiercely, and turned to face the oncoming enemies. As one, the tribes lifted their weapons. “Warriors of the Steppe – with me!” Fearlessly, she charged.
Well, Vivienne wasn’t going to be outdone by a Lalafell, no matter how much she respected the huntress. “You’ll be sorry you ever showed your battered nose here, Imperial!”
Cirina was at her side, nocking an arrow to her bow. “Drive the ironmen from our lands! The khagan wills it!”
“Yes!” Lilidi cried. “Our lands! Our allies! Our people!” Okay, she’d gone native, but she didn’t have to overdo it.
Hien laughed as the two sides collided. “Such fortuitous timing you have to face a Steppe united!”
Lyse cracked her knuckles and slammed her fist into a hapless soldier’s helm before he could parry her. “Now this is more like it! All the Imperials I can punch!” Indeed, she had so much energy that it bled off her in shockwaves, sending Imperials flying with every blow.
“That’s the spirit!” Hien called to her, slicing at one of the machines. “Let’s not let her put us to shame!”
“Never did the thought cross my mind, my lord!” Gosetsu replied, shadowing his master’s steps.
Vivienne had found the Roegadyn, and bared her teeth in a violent grin although he could not see under her helmet. “Finally, you have no excuse not to face me! Let’s dance!”
“Oho, shows what you know!” he answered. “My forces are stronger than yours – you ain’t even got proper uniforms!”
Oh, she couldn’t engage him in conversation. She’d falter trying to process what new dumb thing he’d said. She swayed around a hammerblow and swung Cronus back. The two huge weapons clanged off each other, a ringing knell that sent fighters on both sides around them staggering back.
She wasn’t taking one step backward, whatever he might do.
“What a mess!” R’nyath exclaimed, trying to find a target in all the tangle before him. He needed a vantage point or something.
“It’s not a mess at all,” Tam said. “In fact, it’s very convenient.”
“Oh? Oh yeah, unite everyone against the real enemy, dress rehearsal for our actual plans, et cetera,” R’nyath replied. “Hey, if I stand on your shoulders will it bother you?”
Tam cast an amused eye down at him. “Yes, of course it will. If you want to make a target of yourself, one of those machines should be destroyed in a moment and then you can stand on that.”
Ah… he’d forgotten about the inverse of his plan where people would try to hit him back. Ah well. Maybe he should switch to astrologian and just keep folks alive. He did so, jogging forward to cast Earthly Star in the middle of the melee.
“Ah, there you are!” said a deep Xaela voice, and he looked around to see Khori, catching his breath with his katana all bloodied. “Pity your people won… but I am glad you made it through, dear R’nyath.”
“You too, handsome,” R’nyath said. “Wanna fight together?”
“Aye, can do!”
Sadu growled. “Let naught be left in our wake!” Once more, she summoned those chuluu, preparing to cast her spell. R’nyath was getting rather curious about it, since she’d been denied twice.
“I don’t like the looks of those giant stone thingies!” the Roegadyn Imperial yelled at his underlings, still whaling away at Vivienne who was whaling back. “Get rid of them – now!”
Kekeniro was trying to suggest specific jobs for specific tribes, but nobody was really listening except the Mol. Still, even Magnai was doing his best to block Imperial soldiers from rushing forward – and an experienced warrior like that could Holmgang quite a lot of people. “Kneel or die!” he roared. R’nyath guessed it was going to be ‘die’ pretty universally, and he probably ought to feel bad for them for being so wildly outclassed. The spider-mechs really weren’t enough to stop this many warriors, out in the open, not when people like Achiyo and Gosetsu were there to get in their way. What had that Roegadyn been thinking?
Khori’s muscles gleamed with sweat in the sun, and R’nyath shook his head to stay focused. The Buduga’s lack of clothes might be some machismo thing, and they weren’t totally devoid of protective enchantments to mitigate harm, but they were still prone to injury, he was noticing.
“How it burns!” Sadu moaned. The chuluu were lighting up as her spell neared completion.
“Oh, she’s definitely getting off on that,” R’nyath muttered to Khori, hoping there weren’t any Dotharl in hearing range.
“That’s why she’s the mad udgan,” Khori answered, slashing at an Imperial swordsman and only getting his shield. “I never thought of it that way before. Eugh.”
R’nyath snickered at him and cast Malefic again.
Sadu’s cackling grew to fever pitch, and fireballs and meteors rained down on everything. They crashed through the machines, rending their darksteel armour and igniting their insides, exploding them and sending pieces flying across the Steppe. The remaining soldiers were mowed down by roaring flames. The warriors of the Steppe were untouched – although the shrapnel from the explosions had injured a few.
Vivienne had become separated from that cursing Roegadyn in the process of defending the chuluu, and now the Roegadyn was standing at the back of his demolished lines, staring at the burning hulks in front of him. “But I had you, I had you!” he whined. “Impossible! She was there for the taking! What do I have to do?”
“That’s three for three,” Vivienne called over. “There’s nothing you can do to best me, but feel free to keep trying.”
“I need more men… more weapons… more power!” The Roegadyn turned and fled down the hill, screaming in anger and fear. The derisive laughter of the Xaela followed him.
Chapter 59: The Fall of Doma Castle