Threadbare

Bears and Battlefields

The waystone activated, and Threadbare found himself in a busy camp.

Please stand clear, said the Knight standing at the murder hole, one of eight figures arrayed around the loose semi-circle of stone that made the killbox of the arrival point. If he hadn't been expected, or had been a stranger, then quite a lot of magical and martial fury would be focused upon him.

He was one of the few entities in Cylvania that might survive that sort of thing, but it was good not to have to test the hypothesis. So he padded out of the enclosure, handing the waystone to the Knight as he went. She nodded her thanks then turned her gaze back to the center, crossbow cocked and ready.

Threadbare looked around the hilly ground. They were on top of a rise that overlooked a river valley, with a roaring waterfall spraying down at his side. Elemental earthworks had been constructed at key points, and the camp itself was set back from the ridge, with fortifications at the crest of the slope. Curiously, a series of holes arrayed the ground at various points. What is the purpose of those? he asked a passing courier.

Drains, sir. We're expecting them to try and divert the waterfall and flood us out. The messenger did a double-take, then saluted. Sir! You are expected in the command tent. It's that way. He pointed at the tent furthest back from the fortifications.

Threadbare recognized it, it was the nice one with the sewn runes and inlaid wards. When it was out in the field, there were certain rules in play, and he made a mental note to avoid talking about anything sensitive outside of it. Thank you, he told the young man, and set off toward the tent.

Threadbare! Celia shouted the second he parted the curtains, and before he could reply he found himself lifted and squished quite thoroughly.

He patted his little girl's back, as he hugged her. She was wearing her field armor now, but that was okay.

And while he was peering over her shoulder, he got a look at the inside of the command tent.

The wards inscribed on the outside glowed on the inside, showing their functionality. Were any to short out, it would mean that someone was up to shenanigans. Moreover, they provided strong light to view the large, oaken table that held up the battlemap. It was sculpted terrain, supplied by the Earth Elementalists of the army and painted by the staff artists. The map showed a mountainous pass, that sloped down into hills, broken by a river that ran through the center of it. That was where the largest grouping of Cylvanian flags was, and he assumed that it indicated this camp. Another gap in the hills to the north had another couple of flags, and there were a few that he thought indicated the aerial forces to the northwest.

It's about time, said a voice, and he looked up to see Apollyon Henweigh smiling down at him. I knew you'd be here to back us up, sir.

He glanced around the room, in the moment before Celia put him down. Jean was here as well, along with most of the generals of the Eastern front, and a dwarven figure that was probably a liaison to King Grundi's regiments. And a large iron leg, that when he followed it up was connected to a hulking iron torso, and a familiar iron face that beamed down at him.

Hello brother, said Emmet.

Emmet! Celia finally released him, and Threadbare ran to hug his brother. Golden light flared as he did so.

Your Innocent Embrace skill has healed Emmet 77 HP!

You were hurt? Threadbare took a step back, and looked his sibling over. There were a few charred marks, but he didn't see any major trauma. Just nicks and scrapes.

Though the fact that those remained after seventy-seven points of healing reminded him of two things. Firstly that Emmet was a walking juggernaut of destruction, with hit points well over a thousand. And secondly, that someone must have put a sizeable dent in his brother to get even a sign of mild wear and tear to manifest, because Emmet had quite formidable armor. Armor Golems were literally made of the stuff, and he had enough levels that hurting him through conventional means was tricky.

Emmet nodded. I took a walk earlier. I think some of their artillery spotted me. It took a few minutes to get out of their range. They are fairly precise.

They're that close already? Threadbare asked, hopping up on the table. And indeed, all around the river down in the valley, a cluster of purple-and-red flags emblazoned with golden bells filled the valley. Celia's hair had blocked his view of this side of the map, and he frowned as he examined the enemy lines. He wasn't exactly skilled at reading the various symbols, but there were an awful lot of flags. How did they get this many people here so fast?

They used the rivers, Jean said. We have always had powerful Water Elementalists among our people. They are necessary to survive the deadly fish that spawn near our home.

They've got some pretty big barges stored away in their back lines, Celia said. Burning them would slow them down, regardless of whether or not we win or lose, here.

About that... Threadbare said. I would really like to talk this over with them. They're attacking us for something we didn't do, and it's looking like the people behind it are the same ones who set Daffodil to starting a revolution...

He relayed everything they'd learned from the doll haunter. Midway through, Garon entered the tent, but stayed silent until Threadbare was done.

I do not know if this changes anything with the war, Jean said, her ears falling. The conceit of Belltollia is that the Phantom does not exist, even though everyone knows that is a lie. The word on the front lines is that a Cylvanian airship snuck into the city, and unleashed a terrible weapon upon the garrison, only to be driven off at the last minute by the city's defenses. Many died, and this war is the justice that Belltollia requires. The Phantom... I cannot say if he supports or detests the war, but I do not think it can be settled without some bloodshed.

Hate to say it, but she's right, Garon chimed in. This is geopolitics. They're going to test us to see if we're weak, first. If we can't defend ourselves, it doesn't matter if we're right or wrong, and they get a severely underpopulated land full of resources, better soil, and a strong defensive position against other nations. So we have to fight before we get them to any sort of negotiations.

Very orky, Zuula hissed, and Threadbare glanced up to see that she'd snuck in on Garon's shoulder. Really dey not so different from orcs, just fuzzier.

Jean wrinkled her nose. Excuse me?

You is excused.

Celia walked over and put a hand on Jean's knee. The rabbitkin immediately bent down, and took it. That was a compliment, coming from Zuula, Celia said. I don't like this either, but it's something we need to settle. The better our defense, the better we fight, the sooner we'll be able to stop fighting.

Threadbare felt his heart sink. For a moment he wondered why they'd bothered going north, if this was inevitable to begin with.

But they HAD made new friends. Even if one of them might eat a few other of his friends if they weren't very, very careful. So he pushed it to the side, squared his shoulders as best he could without, well, shoulders, and looked to Celia. How can I help?

We need you as support, said one of the generals. What was his name again? Merser? Something like that. He'd played a critical role in operations in the past. Jean has informed us that they have Golemists. Since a number of our most skilled troops are wearing golem bodies, we have to prevent them from being compromised by enemy skills. And more golem-compatible healing wouldn't go amiss. We only have so many Shamans.

I can do that, Threadbare said, looking up at his brother. And we need to have a talk, later. I used something recently that made me think about how I'd be in trouble if it was used against me. So I can fix both of us if it comes to it. And Reason, if she's here. He glanced at Celia.

She is. Celia smiled. I think that's most of what we needed you for, right now. I'm sorry, but... she looked at the map again. We have to focus, now. Get this over with.

I understand. Threadbare nodded. I should go and figure out who I'm going to be healing and supporting.

I will show you, Emmet nodded, the pistons of his neck grinding in their casings. For I am one of them. Come with me. Please.

The front-line fortifications were simple, but effective. Long pillars of stone pulled out of the hills, to create layers of rock with narrow gaps between them. Scorched earth around a few of the viewing slits showed that the enemy had tested them a few times, or more. And in and among the fortifications, hundreds of Cylvanian troops moved and settled weapons and ammunition into position.

And there among them was a figure that put a smile on his face.

Reason! Hello! He waved.

Threadbare! Reason rasped, turning to face him, her massive mechanical body shifting and rising. It even dwarfed Emmet.

Reason had been Celia's Steam Knight suit, once upon a time. Then he'd turned her into a proper golem, for a number of... well, reasons. It had worked out, and she'd been a great help in defending Cylvania. Once the exploration parties had ventured outside, it had been inevitable that a few would stir up trouble. Whenever that trouble came this way, Reason and Emmet would be called in to put it down. They'd even handled some nasty business with a dragon a year and a half ago, though by all reports it had been touch-and-go, and the thing had flown off rather than fight to the death.

She had also helped out quite a lot at the Rumpus Room. But then Copperfield had pulled shenanigans, and the golem training academy was still closed, pending an investigation that... actually wasn't necessary anymore, now that Threadbare thought about it.

The thought cheered him up.

Then a distant explosion reminded him that it perhaps wasn't time to be cheerful yet.

You should sit down, Emmet told Reason.

Oh. She turned her cockpit to glance back toward the enemy lines, then swept a gauntlet the size of a horse up, and punched at a diagonal angle.

KRUNK!

She shook her hand a bit, and examined her now-dented and smoking knuckles. Eight pound ball, she observed. I think. She settled down, as a red '42' moved out of her head and toward the sky.

They have range on us? Threadbare tilted his head. Is that supposed to happen?

They have range on the fortifications, yes, Emmet said. Beyond that I should not say why this is not so bad.

Ah. Yes. He went forward and hugged Reason.

Your Innocent Embrace has healed Reason 79 HP!

Your Innocent Embrace skill is now level 25!

She reached down with a finger and scratched the side of his head, as one of her knuckles lost a dent. Thank you, she said. You might want to save that, though. It's not bad yet, and

Corporal Reason! Barked a voice. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, CORPORAL REASON!

Threadbare barely got lose from Reason as she jumped, literally jumped, shaking the earth beneath her when she landed. Nothing sir! I mean, uh, greeting my father sir!

YOU WERE TOLD ABOUT SHOWBOATING CORPORAL REASON! WHAT DO YOU CALL PUNCHING CANNONBALLS OUT OF THE SKY CORPORAL REASON!

And Threadbare turned to see a face he hadn't seen in quite a long time.

Green. Twisted with fury. Two tusks thrusting up from her lower lip.

Mastoya. Zuula's daughter. Formerly the high general of the mad king's army.

Redeemed? And the question mark on that word was a bit more questionable than he liked.

She clanked forward in her heavy plate, sliding her shield over her shoulder as she shook a gauntlet at the mechanical golem that was three times her size. I CALL THAT SHOWBOATING CORPORAL REASON!

Yes sir. Sorry sir. Reason saluted. Then glanced backward and hunched over again.

DRAW AND GIVE ME FIFTY CORPORAL REASON AND DON'T LET ME CATCH YOU SHOWBOATING AGAIN!

Sir yes sir!

Did she mean to say drop? Threadbare asked Emmet.

Emmet leaned over and whispered, very quietly, No. Pushups are easy for us. But manual dexterity isn't.

And as Threadbare watched, Reason sighed and rummaged around among the fortifications, eventually withdrawing a human-sized sketchpad, and a long pencil, both of which were dwarfed by her massive hands. Holding the pencil between finger and thumb, she started to sketch. It looked painstakingly slow.

AND WHAT ARE THE REST OF YOU GAWKING AT? GET UNLOADED GET SET UP! THE BUNNIES WON'T WAIT FOR YOU TO GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER YOU BASTARDS SO GET MOVING NOW!

The rest of the nearby line, which had stopped to watch the drama, hurried back to work.

And then she turned her gaze on Threadbare.

Mastoya had tried to kill him, once or twice, back in the day. He could see the memory of it in her eyes as she stared down at him, walking slowly forward, greaves clinking as she held his gaze and slid her hand down to the hilt of her well-used longsword.

Sir, she spoke, finally. What is your rank here, on my battlefield?

You know I'm not entirely sure, Threadbare said, glancing up at Emmet.

The officers decided he should heal and support us, Emmet said. But they did not tell me his rank.

Mastoya rolled her eyes. Typical fuckin' brass. All right. I am Sergeant Major Mastoya. And until further fuckin' notice you are Specialist Threadbare. I am going to call you sir on general principles, because you are an officer in my eyes due to having made enough of my men and women and others that not giving you that honorific would be idiotic. As of this moment I am not under your command, because you are a specialist, but as you are a specialist I will heed your advice on your areas of specialty and avoid overriding you unless your head goes too far up your ass. Do we have an understanding, Specialist Threadbare?

Yes. Yes we do... er... Sir?

I work for a living. Call me Sergeant.

Then yes, we do have an understanding, Sergeant. He was starting to get an idea of how this worked. He didn't have a lot of experience with military procedures and practices. Most of what he'd done in that area had come from reviewing reports when he was a Councilor, and doing the occasional tour of forts and camps. But he thought he knew enough to go along with whatever made Mastoya comfortable. He had been a Ruler long enough to tell when someone was exerting authority over an area, and challenging it here would only be a bad idea for everyone involved.

She squinted past him, looking through one of the gaps in the barriers, then nodded. We've got time, still. Walk with me. We need to talk, Specialist.

She led him back from the fortifications, up to one of the winding paths that switchbacked up the sheer cliffs, past watchtowers and troops hurrying too and fro. They made way at one point as a quartet of musket-toting dwarven hunters carried a brace of goat carcasses past on poles.

Looks like we get fresh dinner tonight, Mastoya grunted approvingly. Well, the ones who eat, anyway. All right. Almost to the top of the summit. Take the left hand path when you get there, Specialist.

It was a nice view, he had to admit. There was a watch tower four hundred yards away, but even without its elevation he had a clear view of the valley below. And a disturbing realization followed some simple arithmetic.

We're outnumbered roughly four to one, aren't we? He asked Mastoya.

More or less. You know we're under scrying protocols, right specialist?

I know, he said. I won't discuss anything that should be kept a secret from the other side.

Good. She sat down, looking out at the valley, and patted a spot next to her. How's mom doing?

Threadbare considered. She's been a little more quiet since she came back. But... she's in a much better state of mind than when she left for the south. I think she needed to do that, to find some peace. To see Mordecai properly buried, I mean.

Buried. Heh. Yeah, we'll call it that, Mastoya said, smiling at nothing. Dad was weak when I needed him to be strong, but he pulled it together in the end. And he was stronger than I knew, at the end of it all. Her smile faded. I don't want you hugging me. Or trying to give me feelings right now. Those troops down there, they need me to be a total fucking badass. So that's all that I have room to be right now, got it?

I do, Threadbare nodded. But if you change your mind after all of this, then let me know and I will help. If it works out for us, I mean. There are an awful lot of Belltollians down there.

Yeah. Poor bitches. They came such a long way to get their asses kicked. Mastoya spat off the mountain.

You're that certain that we'll win? Threadbare asked, taking another look at the enemy lines. There WERE an awful lot of them.

Positive. Now that we've been briefed on them, we'll whoop their ass six ways to sunday. It's only a question of how many losses we take before they give up.

I haven't been briefed on them, Threadbare confessed. Not in the way you have, I don't think.

Well, without getting into command tent shit... Mastoya sucked her teeth, as she considered. So they spent a decade or so hiding underground. That's how they survived the dragons. Then they came out again, and there was no one around to fight. I mean, they still had monsters and dungeons and stuff, but... they never actually had a kingdom-scale battle since they came out. And that was over a decade or two ago.

I believe that's their history, yes. But they would have veterans from before oh. Oh, their age is a problem, isn't it? Threadbare rubbed his head. He had been quite busy dealing with things, and this rather basic thought had escaped him.

Yeah. Figure most of the veterans from before would be super-old or super-dead by now. It's the same problem orcs get, more or less. Mastoya grimaced. Go too long without a good enemy to fight, your warriors lose their edge. And that's BEFORE some chucklefuck stole a deadly weapon and set it loose on their one garrison full of trained troops, killing a whole bunch there.

Green, Threadbare said. That's the term, isn't it?

Greener than my asshole, and I've been assured that's really godsdamned green. Mastoya grinned. Then the grin faded. But there's still a lot of them. And they've got adventurer support, just like we do. So they're gonna take some of us out. It's our job to take them seriously and kill the hell out of them until they surrender or rabbit. Pun fucking intended.

I've been told to heal and support, Threadbare said. I'll be preparing some of our golems with some protections. I'd like to do that before they attack us, so if there's nothing else we need to talk about...

Her voice hardened, and her face turned solemn. Belay that, specialist. We've got time. It's too late in the day for them to move, regardless if they're doing a night attack or a dawn attack. There's something I want to say to you, and I don't know if I'm going to get another chance, so sit down and listen.

Threadbare looked at her, reading her posture. He thought she wouldn't try to punt him off the cliff, so he said Yes sir, and sat back down on his tail.

Mastoya breathed hard for a moment, licked her lips, and stared down at him. She was gathering her nerve, he thought. And after a time, she found it.

Do you remember when you came to me in that cell in Fort Bronze? After you'd captured me?

I do, Threadbare said.

You tried to get me on your side. And I refused. And so you brought in all of my family to guilt me into helping you.

I did, Threadbare nodded. Well. We did.

You all did, Mastoya said, looking away. And for a second, it seemed like she might cry after all, despite what she'd told him a few moments ago. And I want to tell you, that doing that? That was wrong. That hurt me worse than any torture you could have done. Her lips curled, and she hissed like her mother. I would have preferred torture. I would have welcomed it compared to that!

Threadbare nodded. It was mean, he said simply.

It... heh. Mean. Yeah. She cleared her throat. But... then you saved us all from daemons. I saw what they would have done. I held the line when the walls around us turned to maws and tongues and eyes. The whole country would have died screaming. So... She cleared her throat again, but her voice was still raw. You get a pass, bear. Once. You understand me?

I do and I'm glad for it, Threadbare said. Please don't blame your family.

Meh. Too late on that. But... I forgave them. And it's better this way. You know I'm gonna be an aunt soon?

No, I didn't! Threadbare sat up.

Yeah, that's why Jarrik ain't here. Gonna be a half-dwarf half half-orc runnin' around soon. That Beryl Bitch is in the family way.

Which family's way? Threadbare asked.

Oh for the love of... she's pregnant.

Oh. Oh my! I didn't know, Threadbare said.

Yeah she thought she was just getting fatter. Not so much. Calmer now, Mastoya reached down a hand. You get a pass. And I get a family again. So it worked out. Just... maybe a different way, next time around. Okay?

I can do that, Threadbare promised, and took her hand between both of his paws.

Good, she said, took her hand back and snapped him a salute. Report to Corporal Buttons and get my troops warded, Specialist. That's an order.

Yes sergeant! Threadbare said, and headed back down the path.

There was much to do, before the Belltollians came. And he only hoped he had enough time to do it.