Chapter 384: Long-Distance Marathon

Argrave walked up to where Anneliese and Orion already stood. Even now, Anneliese was scouting with her Starsparrow in the distant elven camps, keeping an eye on the situation that they might time things.

“Received word from the elves,” Anneliese began before he’d said anything at all. “Nikoletta was taken far, far away from the frontlines, searching for her father with a group of elves.”

“Good,” Argrave answered, though that wasn’t a pressing concern on his mind. “Everything in order otherwise?”

“The Amaroks are getting fat off the food we deliver to them, right in the spot we agreed upon,” Anneliese confirmed. “No luck with the Mishis… but then, we never expected any to begin with. They spread themselves thin across the forest.”

“And no strength tonics… things fell apart, there.” Argrave rubbed at his eyes and sighed, tired from lack of sleep.

“They’re in position to begin the feigned retreat,” Anneliese told him. “All that remains is sending the signal.”

Orion looked at him expectantly. Argrave closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself mentally. As the seconds passed by, it felt as though he stood before a tall jump and merely needed to jump without thought.

“Send it, before I stall long enough its midday,” he directed her suddenly, taking the plunge.

Anneliese went quiet a few seconds. Then, a tickle of wind scratched Argrave’s cheek, and the Starsparrow appeared again on Anneliese’s shoulder. It sought refuge in her armor.

“It’s sent,” she nodded.

“Then… let’s begin.”

Argrave, Anneliese, and Orion walked forth with hard, heavy steps. They scrambled over burnt roots, felled redwoods, and the great path of razing the centaurs left the last time. Their destination was the heart of it. There, someone already waited for them. Her and a thousand others…

#####

“Matesh!” one of the centaurs shouted as he ran from the caverns, galloping across the ice as he spoke to a group of the chiefs of the various tribes. His steel feet left no gashes in the smooth surface but did keep him steadily moving onwards. “Matesh!”

“Why do you speak to him?” one of the chiefs reprimanded. “Have you forgotten who you follow? And for that matter, has Matesh forgotten he is an exile?”

Still, Matesh trotted out of their circle to meet the man. “What is it?” he asked.

“The horses are back,” the centaur slowed his gallop, coming to catch his breath. “Those northern elves—they’re showing them around again, mocking us. Making crude bows, tying wooden dummies to the horse’s heads... sometimes they put the horses in pits, and do all kinds of…”

The elders looked sore after hearing that. One yelled, “They’ve been doing that for days. Why report it now?”

“They’re not falling back, this time,” the centaur repeated. “They’ve gotten close enough even our arrows could hit. They could, but… they’re too good at dodging them.”

“Are you joking with me?” one of the chieftains slowly moved out. “What are the people up there doing?”

“It’s good people up there,” another pointed out. “Babur’s leading them. Best warrior in all the tribes, perhaps.”

“How many are there?” another demanded, stepping out.

“Maybe one hundred,” the reporting centaur relayed.

“One hundred?!” one repeated incredulously. “Damn your mother, I’m going.”

As one of the chiefs galloped past, retrieving a string to ready his bow, Matesh called out, “Hold on. If it’s as direct as this, it might be a distraction.”

“Might be,” the chief nodded. “So I take twenty of my own, run them off. The rest of you stay here. I need some damn satisfaction after what they’ve been doing.”

“But--!” Matesh began.

“Hey. You left the tribes,” the chief spoke back. “Know your place.”

Matesh swallowed his words as the other left. The chiefs went back to discussing the course of action now that most of the centaurs had been healed after that trouble with the human, though paid close attention to how the situation unfolded outside. He was focused on everything but, looking for any sign of treachery elsewhere.

When he saw a group of humanoids emerge from the caverns, stepping out across the ice lake nonchalantly, Matesh’s heart sped up. After a half second of doubt he shouted, “Intruders!”

With his call, all the chiefs and others gathered around knew, then, of this group. Matesh recognized the three of them at the front all too well, having fought their party once before in the wetlands. A white-haired woman, a black-haired man, and a giant knight in gaudy armor. The golden-armored knight dragged behind the body of a centaur, evoking images of the past where he’d dragged the stag spirit out of the palace. With them were elves, covered in armor. They seemed skilled enough at stealth that their forms were mist… or perhaps it was magic.

As soon as the intruders’ boots met with the ice, they stopped their advance forward. Centaurs from all within the cavern gathered around, cautiously observing the intruder that had already once before left them broken and vulnerable. The white-haired elven woman crouched down, using a strange dagger to scratch the ice as the black-haired leader stepped forth, his movements leaving blood-red trails behind.

“If I’d known you would all gather here again, I wouldn’t have wasted any words back then,” he shouted cockily as the woman behind him worked. “What did I tell you? All of you are important. No way I’d kill you, elsewise I would’ve done it. Especially you, Matesh. Doesn’t feel right, leaving those swamps with a survivor.”

“Bows, bows, bow!” the chiefs shouted, but everyone already strung theirs and prepared arrows to fire upon their group.

“Your Holy Mother is linked to you, imbeciles though you may be… so I appreciate that you all came here.” He cast a spell and conjured a sword of blood, holding it firmly in hand. “But she’s not your Holy Mother anymore, you see. She’ll be a mother of a different kind. I wanted a new concubine, and she will more than suffice.”

The white-haired elven woman stepped away from her scratching, and then man planted the sword of blood in the ice. It burst into dark red liquid, spilling on the surface. Then, he knelt down… and as though from thin air, a woman in an antiquated white dress with golden dreads appeared in his arms.

The first barrage of arrows and spells came, but the white-haired elven woman stepped past him and left a great silver ward to receive them—an A-rank spell, with no doubt. It held firm against their relentless barrage, barely chipping. But as more and more people saw the woman in his arms, more of them looked down, past the crystalline ice to the Mother’s Steppe.

And Sarikiz, their Holy Mother… she was gone. There was only grassland where she once slept. Undisturbed, unmoving grass, nothing else in sight for miles.

The man walked away, carrying the woman in his arms. He threw her over his shoulder and sped up a little, heading for the caverns from whence he came. Soon enough, the white-haired elven woman, the golden-armored knight, and the elven warriors all followed behind. Their theft was complete.

#####

“Do you think he’s running?” Moriatran asked Ganbaatar while the old man stared up at the sky.

Ganbaatar stared at empty grassland where the giant blonde woman had once been. Illusion magic… it was a very perplexing thing. That he could not see through the weave of illusion even slightly bothered him. He shook his head and said, “I have no idea.”

“Hmm…” Moriatran nodded. “Well, it will be you and me for some time. The king’s left the old man and the elf here to rot.”

#####

“Grave!” Mina pounded her fist against Argrave’s shoulder. “Grave, I’m gonna puke, damnit!”

Argrave, Anneliese, and Orion emerged from the caverns leaking into that ice lake. The land beyond was completely devastated—charred and razed flat, this was where the centaur’s assault had begun last time. Now, it was surely to begin again.

Mina was on Argrave’s shoulder, and he held her tightly with one arm so she didn’t fall. Her hair was dreaded decently enough, and they’d fashioned that white dress from a clean silk bedsheet… and she looked well the part of Sarikiz, the Holy Mother. That, coupled with some neat tricks of illusion magic, and here they were.

“Your shoulder is digging into my stomach,” she said desperately. Her voice sounded like it really did have some liquid behind it, so Argrave hefted her back into both of his arms.

“Has to be done,” Argrave told her, catching his breath. “Can feel them marching up the damn caverns.”

As Argrave hefted the small woman up over his shoulder once more, she struggled. Anneliese stepped in and said, “Do it like this.”

Anneliese helped Argrave put Mina in a different position—one wherein he held both of her legs and her right arm, the rest of her body slumped around him like a scarf.

“That’s… better,” Mina admitted hesitantly.

“Alright. Now back to sleep!” Argrave directed her, then began to move. On his end, it did feel much easier to run.

As Mina protested feebly, going limp once more, Argrave, Orion, and Anneliese rushed across the flat ground. His Brumesingers trailed just at his side and howled their eerie chime. Elven warriors—doubtless souls harvested from this place—covered their retreat, watching for whatever came from the caverns. Like echoes of the souls they were born from, the warriors took to the trees and readied bows and arrows of pure mist.

Soon enough… Argrave could hear the shouting behind, and feel the great rumbling on the earth as their pursuers pursued. He could hear cautious cries of checking for traps, of watching for enemies… yet that was soon drowned out by a primal rage and desire for vengeance.

Argrave had stolen what was theirs. He had stolen their most precious thing. And theft generally had consequences…

#####

“You almost have to feel bad for the group of them,” Vasilisa mused, peering down at certain parties down below.

A group of giants and giantesses crouched at the crest of a hill, peering at what lay beyond. Well, giants, giantesses, and one half-giant, the latter of whom was leading them all to spy with spears as tall as buildings in hand. Dozens of Amaroks lay at the top of the hill they watched, their stomachs full of the food that their group had been feeding them the past few days. There was a giant white wolf among all of the others, twice the size of most of them. He must’ve weighed nearly ten tons.

It had been incredibly trying to provide the food to feed this huge pack of mythical wolves, but now it was paying off. Argrave had instructed them to keep the Amaroks near the giants’ camp. They’d worked on the half-giant, too, making it seem like these wolves were a problem needing extermination. Just this morning, Vasilisa left a half-eaten carcass on a trail leading to where the Amaroks slept. Lo and behold…

“These giants think they’re about to hunt a pack of Amaroks straying too close to their camp,” Vasilisa continued. “But soon enough… everybody’s going to be fighting demons and centaurs. It’s sad, almost.”

“You can almost hear them coming,” Grimalt mused, peering out into the distant forest.

“The centaurs, the elves, or the demons?” Vasilisa looked where he was looking. “Argrave’s a real sick bastard…”

“His Majesty,” Grimalt corrected, but did not reprimand her for the unkind words. “Does he… do this sort of thing often?”

“Make others do wild things to benefit him? Yes. I thought it was limited to people, but now… we’ve got wolves, giants…” Vasilisa sighed. “Worst part is, it seems to be working.”

“But you like him despite all that,” Grimalt noted, staring her down with his amber eyes.

“Never you mind what I think,” Vasilisa shot back. “I need a drink. And—oh,” she cut herself off. “Looks like the giants are moving.”

“Then we should get with Artur,” Grimalt said. “Prepare for what is coming.”

“Prepare for a fiery, bloody, chaotic mess, that’s what…” Vasilisa took a deep breath and sighed. “But yeah, let’s go. The king comes a’running…”