The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 12, Chapter 8
Chapter 8
28th Day, Middle Wind Month, 1 CE
“I had really hoped to return here under better circumstances.”
“Y’know, every other time you say something like that, unbelievably stupid shit happens to the place in question.”
“…no it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does,” Girika picked his teeth with a fishbone. “Remember that one Avariel palace in the Heavenly Dragon Lord’s southwestern valleys? A few weeks after we left, it got crushed by that eldritch horror whose name you can’t even say without going insane. Then the Dragon Lord’s defence fleet vaporised it and everything around it because ‘it was the only way to be sure’.”
“That one shouldn’t count,” Saraca said. “What were the chances of that?”
“What are the chances of this?”
Saraca sighed. What were the chances, indeed?
According to the foremost experts on the subject, sufficient quantities of negative energy would gather and form the beginnings of an ‘ecology’ that was best described as an ‘karmic inversion’, ‘echo’, or ‘dark reflection’ of the living world. Before anything as substantial as a Skeleton or a Zombie appeared, it was simply ambient energy; a form of primal ‘mana’ that functioned similarly to elemental mana or the energies of life.
Like all those other primal forces, it could naturally be found anywhere. Unlike those other primal forces, it was generated by specific actions, emotions, and states of being enacted and experienced by the living. Generally speaking, actions that accrued negative karma resulted in negative energy. As the voracious Undead were one of the states of existence, one could say that they were a manifestation of negative karma.
A lot of negative energy could accumulate without anyone noticing. If anyone noticed it, the situation had already become critical. Most things stopped thriving. The growth of many plants became stunted or twisted and living beings felt a distinct sense of unease. Living organisms that were sensitive to imbalances in primal mana or preferred certain mana conditions died out or left the area. The land slowly lost its ability to counterbalance the generation of negative energy and the problems associated with it accelerated as a result.
For the careless – or those that simply didn’t care – it was a trap all too easily sprung. Tombs, cemeteries, barrows and other ceremonial burial grounds could develop into negative energy strongholds if maintenance efforts wavered. Poorly chosen battlegrounds could invert into negative energy zones over the course of a single minor war.
There were no good battlegrounds, in some cases. The expansive tundra of the far south was one such place. No matter how careful the people were, the pooling of negative energy seemed unstoppable over the centuries. Now it was called the Dreadlands, and the strip of nations along its length had become the Crusader States that were locked in an eternal battle to drive back the icy advance of the Undead.
Even in much better conditions, a negative energy inversion could occur. The Silent City was one such place postulated for it to have happened. Before its fall, it was a lawless metropolis ruled by crime lords and evil aristocrats, and its country was in such a state of ruthless anarchy that historians speculated that the accumulated negative energy imploded all at once to form the three Soul Eaters that wiped it out.
Normally, however, the process was gradual. If one was in the camp that believed that negative energy zones had a sort of pseudo-sentience, it was seen as methodical. Much like a fungus, the physical or ethereal manifestation of an Undead being was the ‘fruit’ of a much greater process. They were something like the drones of insectoid races that would autonomously go out and find sustenance for the hive, except in this case the hive was the negative energy zone and the sustenance was the generation of more negative energy through the mindless hunger of the Undead.
Unfortunately, unlike any living hive, that sustenance stuck around. Ambient negative energy remained in an area until it was cancelled out. Beings generated in a negative energy zone didn’t ‘consume’ negative energy to manifest or fuel their continued existence. Fortunately, reaching the point at which Death Knights and Soul Eaters might manifest required a negative energy zone in a grievously advanced stage of development.
Which brought them to their current conundrum. If the Katze Plains was as large as Winter Moon had stated, it would produce its fair share of Elder Liches, Vampires and anything else that ‘belonged’ in its inverted ecology. Something of the magnitude of a Death Knight, however, should have only appeared once a century or so.
Yet, the reports of Rol’en’gorek’s warrior clans claimed at least dozens. On its own, it didn’t make much sense.
“What are the chances of a foothold situation?” Saraca said to no one in particular.
“What’s that?” Rana Saj asked from the bench in front of him.
“Basically,” Saraca answered, “this ‘Katze Plains’ northwest of the Draconic Kingdom is far too small to have so many powerful Undead. But there does exist a place with a lot of powerful Undead. Elder Liches are fairly common as far as stronger Undead are concerned. They all learn Teleportation magic because, well, who wouldn’t learn such convenient magic if they could? Anyway, it is the fear of any country aware of the dangers of the Undead that an Elder Lich or several of them teleports an Undead warband straight into their territory, establishing a foothold.”
If it was a foothold scenario, it might actually work in the Beastman Confederacy’s favour. They would be perfectly justified in sending an expeditionary force to put a permanent end to the threat and station that army in the ruins of the Draconic Kingdom. Once established, they could fix the barbarism and stupidity that was going on in the savage lands around it.
“What’s ‘teleportation’?” Rana Saj asked.
“Erm, it describes an effect that instantaneously moves a caster or the caster’s target from one place to another. It can be a spell, Ability, Skill, or even Martial Art.”
Saraca tried thinking of any races Rol’en’gorek might be familiar with that had some form of innate teleportation, but from what he could recall, there were none.
“You may have witnessed some of my Gladestalkers doing it in battle,” Saraca said, “but the version I was referring to can cover hundreds of kilometres in a single cast.”
“That does sound convenient,” Rana Saj said. “It could indeed explain how so many powerful Undead could suddenly appear.”
“The problem is that Undead don’t behave that way,” Karuvaki said from Saraca’s left. “I won’t claim that they’re unimaginative, but their thinking flows along certain lines. An Elder Lich learns Teleportation for personal use; they never offer someone a ‘ride’. Arcane might is a mark of personal accomplishment and they jealously guard their powers.”
“More importantly,” Saraca said, “the Undead are not strategically or tactically flexible. Elder Liches can control many Undead, but their tactics are generally not much better than what mindless Undead are capable of. The main difference is that all those mindless Undead move according to a single will. Vampire Lords form secretive covens that they treat as exclusive clubs for the privileged. Mummy Lords act as the high priests of their temples or tombs. The closest thing to a Commander that the Undead have are Death Knights, which aren’t any better than an unproven, untrained youth with an unblooded warband.”
“So the thought of using this ‘Teleportation’ for strategic advantage never enters into their minds.”
“Yes, that’s right. Thankfully, massed Undead walk wherever they go. Even flying ones stick close to the main force. The Undead gaining a true grasp of strategy is possibly one of the greatest threats to the living world.”
As Vltava so succinctly put it, what was, was. Every ‘species’ of Undead had its own behaviours and, in lieu of the desires of the living, they pursued their objectives with a single-minded obsession. Not only did this narrow their ‘options’, but it also resulted in varying rates of ‘growth’ between different types of intelligent Undead.
The somewhat common Elder Lich manifested as a relatively weak being. Like any magic caster who focused on their studies, however, they could grow in knowledge and power in seclusion and secrecy. Mummies were in a similar boat, though they weren’t as busy as Priests who tended to the living for obvious reasons.
Vampires tended to take a more ‘social’ route. They couldn’t fit in with the living well when they were Lesser Vampires, so they acted as wandering predators until they were destroyed or ‘evolved’ into a form more suited to their goals. Once that happened, they infiltrated a society of their choice. As it was infiltration, it became much more difficult to deal with but at the same time didn’t create major, overt problems for the living until the coven grew to an advanced stage.
Intelligent Undead of the martial variety, on the other hand, faced a mountain of difficulties. Beings such as Death Knights manifested at a level of strength where the vast majority of ‘opponents’ they encountered were relatively weak and offered little in the way of growth opportunities. Most countries were intelligent enough to give them a wide berth until they could be decisively dealt with. No one wanted to inadvertently make one of the Undead stronger if they could help it, so Death Knights, Soul Eaters, and the like tended to see little development by the time they were destroyed.
Since the Undead from the Katze Plains hadn’t been running rampant over the region for an extended period, Saraca expected that the Elder Liches and potential Night Liches in the oncoming Undead army were the preeminent threat. But even those would likely be fairly straightforward in their thinking and highly limited in combat experience. The information delivered to Rol’en’gorek’s warrior clans supported this notion, with the Undead simply massing in overwhelming numbers and taking the path of least resistance – and through the most highly-populated areas – of the Rol’en’gorek Basin.
Their barge made its way through the familiar canyon that marked the entrance to the Draconic Kingdom, part of a vast fleet of vessels ferrying the warrior clans of Rol’en’gorek to confront their foe in the west. Every warrior clan not occupied with border duties had answered the call to arms. This included the already-battered, but still powerful, Clan Ki’ra which sent forty thousand with Rana Saj.
Strangely, Saraca hadn’t been aware of just how prominent the clan was, and he cringed a bit when he thought about how he was trying to introduce Xoc to them. Her reaction to his nonchalant attempts was understandable, given how many steps on the social ladder he had skipped.
“How are things being organised at the landing?” Saraca asked.
“Probably chaotically,” Rana Saj answered. “We know how to run an army, but this army is twenty times larger than usual. Fortunately, this place that we’re arriving at…”
“Eastwatch,” Mitra said.
“Eastwatch,” Rana Saj repeated, then furrowed his brow. “That’s funny; Gor’lior has the same meaning. I guess we’ll be stationed at the eastern watches, even this far west. Anyway, the Rol’en’gorek has two major tributaries joining it near Eastwatch and the clans are disembarking along both the Rol’en’gorek and the northern one.”
Saraca nodded. At least they wouldn’t be split in half if they lost control of the river. With things as hectic as they were, he did his best to stay out of Rana Saj’s way and simply act as an informal attaché. There was little detailed information about the Undead to be had, so the standard-looking deployment that the Clanlords decided on was one of the better stances to assume, both defensively and logistically.
The silhouette of the Human fortress city appeared through the rain and their barge manoeuvred to a berth reserved for Rana Saj in the city’s harbour. There, a warrior awaited him, bobbing his head respectfully as the Clanlord disembarked.
“Rana Saj,” he said. “Welcome. A place has been prepared for you and your retinue. Please follow me.”
They fell into step behind the warrior, making their way up the broad ramp to the fortress gate.
“Any developments on the front?” Rana Saj asked.
“Too many to list,” the warrior said. “The Clanlords that have already arrived are discussing them in the hold. Once we settle the matter of your warriors, I’m to deliver you to the hold so you can join in on the…shouting.”
“That sounds promising.”
“I won’t deny that it’s a mess. Too many things have happened too quickly.”
The warrior led them through the inner walls of the city, bringing them up to a manor that looked like it had been converted into a barracks. After examining the structure for a bit longer, he decided that it was purpose-built to be easily convertible. It showed good sense on the part of the Humans, as the fortress city probably took in refugees from the countryside and temporarily housed additional soldiers on a regular basis.
Under the eaves of the entrance, they found a tall, young Baagh who stepped out into the rain as soon as he noticed them.
“Father,” he said.
“Hhrolhr!” Rana Saj strode forward and wrapped his son up in a hug, “Thank the gods you’re safe.”
Rana Saj released Hhrolhr, patting him up and down as if to ensure the boy was still in one piece.
“Is Goro inside? He’s usually taking a nap at around this time.”
Hhrolhr looked down at the paving stones in silence. His ears and whiskers drooped, and his tail lay flat over the lane.
“I see,” Rana Saj’s tone was measured. “Our warriors need to be situated, first. We’ll speak on the way to the hold.”
Once they received the arrangements for their disembarking warriors, their guide led them to the keep in the rear-central portion of the inner city. Rana Saj and his son walked together in silence until the Baagh Lord visibly gathered himself.
“So,” he said, “what happened?”
“We were stationed far in the northwest,” Hhrolhr said. “For a poor civilian clan of Singh that called themselves Kisher. Well, it was mostly out of charity; they were tributaries of Clan Torokgha, but the conquest had turned out far differently than expected. We were just there to help out, and, Goro being Goro, he wanted to go as far as he could go to see what things were like out here.”
That did sound like how Saraca’s father described Goro. He was a Baagh that wished to travel far and wide to see the world and all of its wonders.
“Our tasks mainly consisted of border duties,” the young Baagh continued. “Both guarding Clan Kisher’s territory against intrusion and keeping the Humans from escaping the country. Our warband ended up in a place that the Humans call the ‘Deadmarch’ – a vast grassland bordering another place that the Humans call the ‘Katze Plains’. That place was the likes of which I had never seen before: an endless wasteland devoid of all life, cracked and blasted by the elements. An impenetrable mist shrouds everything, and within that mist lurk the Undead.
“Still, things were uneventful for months. There were no problems from the outside while the issues experienced by the civilian clans only grew worse. At least until about eight weeks ago, when our scouts detected the first signs of the Undead horde. They were plentiful, but weak. Our warriors had never fought any Undead before, but we could easily best many times our number. Yet, Goro sensed that there was something wrong; that something else was going on.”
“In that case,” Rana Saj said, “he must have advised the Clanlord accordingly.”
“He did,” Hhrolhr replied. “But the Clanlord wouldn’t listen. Too many things kept them from heeding grandfather’s wisdom. The conquest was too easily achieved, and the civilian clans had become undeservingly prideful. Because the conquest was too easily achieved, there were too many mouths to feed and a battle would kill off the unworthy. And because their lands were won through conquest, defending their prize from those that would challenge them for it was a matter of course.”
“I could empathise with their reasoning if they were a warrior clan,” Rana Saj said, “but this Clan Kisher was purely civilians, right? Clan Torokgha’s information described threats that were clearly beyond the capabilities of a civilian clan to handle.”
“Those threats weren’t there at first,” Hhrolhr told him. “What we saw were weak Undead – Skeletons, Zombies, Wights, Ghouls and the like. The others must have been deeper in their ranks; out of the notice of our scouts.”
“Is that how Goro fell, then? Bested by an unexpected foe?”
“I don’t know,” Hhrolhr sighed. “Goro was so convinced that something terrible was happening that he sent me to warn the others. All of Clan Kisher was on the warpath when I parted ways with Goro, and our warband was obliged to support them.”
Silence settled over father and son. There was little sense of closure in the tale. Only bitterness.
“Goro sent you to warn the others,” Saraca said, “but what we heard in Rol’en’gorek made the appearance of the Undead sound like a complete surprise.”
“Because the others wouldn’t listen!” Hhrolhr grated, “I just…I just lacked the means to persuade them. I could only convey Goro’s misgivings; I couldn’t just lie and say that Clan Kisher had been destroyed. And all those clans along the way were much like Clan Kisher. They had the same reasons to stay, and those reasons were more compelling than a vague warning about an unproven threat. Maybe if Thurgakhr had been sent instead of me…”
“Now that you mention it,” Rana Saj said, “I recall that girl went off chasing after you. Did she catch up with Goro’s warband?”
“She did,” another sigh left Hhrolhr’s voice. “I protested when Goro allowed her to join us, but he just laughed and told me to resign myself to my fate.”
Chuckles rose from the warriors around them, but they didn’t last for long.
“The last I saw of her,” Hhrolhr said, “she was in one of the border patrols. She would have joined our warband with Clan Kisher in the furthest northwest. No one survived from there…except me.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that, son,” Rana Saj said. “Neither should you blame yourself for all those stubborn clans that couldn’t be persuaded to abandon their new territories. What Saraca said is still valid, however. The civilian clans may not have heeded your warning, but Clan Torokgha should have. What did Rana Dratha say when you brought word to him?”
Hhrolhr stopped in the middle of the street. Rana Saj spun around to face him, returning his son’s confused expression with one of his own.
“What are you talking about, father?” The youth said, “Rana Dratha is dead. He’s been dead for over half a year.”
“Well,” Girika snorted. “That explains a whooooole lot.”
It certainly did. A Warmaster would never knowingly make the mistakes that were on clear display in the Draconic Kingdom.
“…how could that happen?” Rana Saj said incredulously, “Rana Dratha was peerless in both tactics and strategy. Not even our best warriors could defeat him in personal combat!”
“I’m still not sure, exactly,” Hhrolhr said. “Goro said that he was leading an assault against a stubborn Human holdout. There was no sign of any sort of trap. A score of powerful Humans simply appeared out of thin air and attacked the Warmaster all at once, slaying him, his bodyguards, and several prominent Lords.”
“A teleport ambush,” Saraca said grimly.
“That’s teleportation?” Rana Saj’s mouth fell open.
The lands beyond the edge of civilisation were truly brutal. Even the slightest edge in ability, knowledge, magic, or technology could lay the mighty low through all of their precautions. Nations didn’t enjoy free-flowing connections, nor did they have any decent degree of communication or development, and that made the situation orders of magnitude worse.
“It is a well-known martial application of teleportation,” Saraca said. “At least where I come from. A force can be teleported to a certain, predetermined point to decisively strike at whoever or whatever is lured to it. Without any true countermeasures, the target can only fight for their survival…which would be difficult considering their ambushers will have made the appropriate preparations to deal with them.”
Rana Saj looked around as if something might pop up to strike at him then and there.
“The attack was sudden,” Hhrolhr said, “but the assassins were known to us. They were killed in retaliation not long after.”
“Not that it would have made up for the Warmaster’s loss,” Rana Saj muttered. “In that case, who leads Clan Torokgha now? Which viper decided that deceiving one’s people over such a critical matter was even remotely a good idea?”
“Rana Dratha’s mate. A guru by the name of Khhschlr.”
Saraca resisted the urge to cover his face with his paw.
“I never liked her,” Rana Saj said. “Too many ‘ideas’. I suppose that this was another one of them.”
They arrived at the central keep: a massive structure with basalt battlements looming ten metres over the street. As their guide had mentioned, the sound of shouting could be heard leaking out of the arrow slits above. With a dead Warmaster on their hands, Saraca couldn’t blame them. The brilliant leader that they thought they would have was no longer.
The shouts coming down the stairwell died down when Rana Saj entered the great hall on the third floor of the keep.
“Rana Saj,” a massive Singh Lord near the head of the table said. “Going by the way your tail is hanging, you’ve learned of the Warmaster’s fate.”
“Going by all the shouting,” Rana Saj replied, “it seems that a new order hasn’t been established.”
“How can there be? Never have so many clans gone to war in one place at once. Even the Jorgulan Front only maintains three hundred thousand at any one time.”
“Nothing says it can’t be the same way, Rana Kizurra,” Rana Saj seemed to shrug as he took his place across from the Singh Lord. “The Jorgulan Front has no Warmaster: the warrior clans of the east simply take their respective turns defending the border. At the least, each major clan or coalition of minor clans can take care of their respective portions of the fight against the Undead.”
Rana Saj sat down, placing his paws on the table. The Lords that had just been standing as they shouted at one another followed suit.
“Most of us are of the same mind,” Rana Kizurra said. “The problem lies with deployment. Reports from the front have been sporadic and mostly hysterical. Borderline superstitious and we don’t even have any superstitions about the Undead. I’m not sure if they can be trusted or not.”
“You mean to say that they imply Clan Torokgha is losing?”
“Losing ground, at least. From what we can put together, the Undead control the Rol’en’gorek further west and Clan Torokgha’s forces have been cut in half. Those that we spoke to…it’s as if fighting the Undead was a routine thing for two weeks, and then it suddenly wasn’t.”
“So they were caught off guard,” Rana Saj said. “Who is commanding Clan Torokgha’s forces now, by the way? If you say it’s that guru, I’m afraid this table may not survive my reaction.”
Snorts of derision sounded from around the long stone table. Evidently, Khhschlr wasn’t very well-liked amongst Rol’en’gorek’s Clanlords. When they had first arrived in the jungle, his wives had mentioned how the elites of the tribal confederation were likely the conservative sort. Back then, he considered it a downside. With Khhschlr in the picture, maybe it was actually a good thing.
“Rana Renatha,” Rana Kizurra said. “A Baagh Lord. Under him are Rana Verre and Rana Kimb, who commanded the north and south sides of the Rol’en’gorek respectively. They’ve been the de facto military leaders since the loss of Rana Dratha, and it at least sounded like they were holding out back when they first reported the appearance of this Undead army. Considering the whole thing with Rana Dratha, I’m not sure if any information can be trusted. They could have been fighting the Undead for the past year for all we know.”
“Goro’s warband was in the northwest when the Undead first appeared,” Rana Saj said. “My son was with them, and he said that was about eight weeks ago.”
“I see. Well, that’s one less thing to have doubts over.”
“What spurred the Undead advance?” Rana Saj asked, “Why did they even stop in the first place? From what I understand, the Undead don’t stop for anything if the living stand before them.”
Rana Kizurra’s gaze went past Rana Saj’s shoulder, to Saraca.
“It should be the Elder Liches mentioned in the initial reports coordinating their forces,” the Singh Lord said. “The way your friend described them at our meeting in Ghrkhor’storof’hekheralhr, they were probably just waiting for enough forces to push Clan Torokgha back decisively.”
“Still,” Saraca said, “even that is a cause for worry. Are the Undead using any discernible tactics or indirect strategies?”
“As far as we’ve heard, it’s been entirely direct. They’ll even destroy their own to get at the living. When force doesn’t work, they use more force.”
“What about their control of the river?”
“Likely an unfortunate fact of how their progress varies on the resistance that we offer. The Undead get stalled at the cities and towns wherever Clan Torokgha makes a stand and they rampage unchecked everywhere else. We can’t offer any resistance underwater, so…”
Did that make sense? On the surface, it did. There was a certain foolishness in overcomplicating things, but, at the same time, there was a danger to dismissing things as being as simple as they appeared.
“How close are the Undead now?” Rana Saj asked.
“The renewed Undead advance started eight days ago,” Rana Kizurra answered. “Rana Verre’s forces at first intended to hold the Undead back at one of the Human cities on the front, but then they realised that the Undead all along the front were simply advancing past them. They changed the plan to a fighting retreat to avoid being encircled, but there were complications. The Undead had gotten past them by way of the river and they couldn’t use ships to send their civilians to safety as they intended. The warrior clans tried holding the Undead back while escorting the civilians, but when exhaustion started taking the civilians…”
Saraca shook his head. It was a colossal tragedy. One that played right into the Undead’s cold, rotting hands. Those that were unfamiliar with the ‘tactics’ of the Undead tended to think it was their hate-filled violence and supernatural abilities that made them a threat, but, in reality, it was what they represented. Disease; infirmity; age; exhaustion – they were the manifestation of the fate that awaited all mortals, and they relied on those means to create more of their own.
“How many are we facing now?” He asked.
“Too many to count,” Rana Kizurra answered. “We already have skirmishers chipping away at them in the north, where they’ve advanced to the border of Rol’en’gorek. I believe we’ve been successful at drawing them towards us instead of heading into the jungle.”
“What about their controllers? The Elder Liches and Death Knights.”
“A few Elder Liches did fly out, at first. Our hunters gave them a good pummelling, so they’re probably a bit shy about making an appearance now. The rest of the Undead front on the north side of the Rol’en’gorek are anywhere between one and two days away. Clan Torokgha’s original plan was to hold the Undead at their clanhold, so the ones on the south side are probably behind.”
“Which makes it the perfect opportunity to get rid of the northern Undead forces,” an Ocelo Lord said. “We should seize this chance before the two halves consolidate. They may have cut Clan Torokgha’s forces in half, but in doing so they have divided themselves as well.”
It was a fundamentally sound line of reasoning, but he didn’t like moving without knowing where the other half of the Undead forces were. There was no reason that he shouldn’t know, however.
“Karuvaki.”
“Yes?”
“Locate the other half of the Undead forces.”
“As you command.”
The Sacred Fist went about making her preparations with the others. Six stoups were placed in a line on the dais at the head of the room.
“What are they doing?” Rana Saj asked.
“Scrying for the location of the enemy forces in the south,” Saraca answered. “It’s a brute force method that doesn’t have any success in locating unknown individuals, but a horde of Undead is easily spotted.”
The mystics attending to the Lords in the room came forward to watch the proceedings curiously. The Lords came forward as well, gaping at the scenery flashing by in the watery reflection of each stoup.
“I have something,” one of the Sacred Fists said.
“Already?” Saraca strode forward, “Don’t tell me the Undead are under a kilometre away from here.”
“You may wish that they were,” the Sacred Fist replied. “This is something arguably worse.”
Saraca placed his paws on his hips, leaning forward to look into the water’s reflection. He immediately wished he hadn’t.
In the projected image was a large group of Beastmen. Carried on the back of one of the warriors in the front was Khhschlr.
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