The Power of Ten: Sama Rantha 177 Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Seven – A Grym End

They came boiling up out of concealed holes and creches in the rocks and brush, very easy to miss, armed with spears, axes, bows and crossbows, wearing motley sets of leathers and mail pieces, twenty of them rapidly ringing the carriage, and darting forward to grab Tabi and stop him in place, as a good horse was worth a lot of money.

The men whooped as they closed in on the beardless driver, bows aimed at the hyn riding crossbow up top and daring him to make a move. They looked quite excited as they came in, and one eager fellow reached in to grab the door and lead his fellows inside.

There was a popping sound, a crackle and a snap, and muscle reflex kicked the man back off his feet, hair burning and eyes black from the surge of voltage that had gone through him.

The momentary shock drew a lot of eyes, and then the side panels folded down, and the automated dart launchers ploinked off their loads, two on each side of the carriage instantly dropping four men writhing to the ground.

Feist tapped the top of The Wagon, and shield walls shot up as he rolled back, taking a half-dozen bolts that couldn't penetrate the Hardened Ironwood. His Autobow snapped into hand, he propped it on the slit as the hatch behind him was thrown up and Veis zipped up behind him, her own Autobow in hand, and took the back arc.

Down below, Verd, looking rather boyish in traveling attire with her chest bound up, reached out to a prodding spear with her left hand, and to the total amazement of the grown man holding it, hauled it in to herself as her right hand struck out and plunged fully into his throat. Her head turned as the short spear left his weakened grasp, and back-handed she drove it six inches into the face of the swordsman at the other side who hadn't responded in time.

Tabi thought that was a fine time to stop being a docile horse. His harness unsnapped, leaving him free to move, and he took a step forwards and pivoted. His large square teeth closed on one man's throat and ripped out, while his rear leg slammed out like a piston and crushed another man's breastbone like a battering ram, sending him flying into his fellows.

Amber dropped down through the bottom of The Wagon, rolled smoothly, and came up with her rapier spitting one man's throat, and a throwing knife flicked precisely into another by her side as she raced for the nearest crossbowmen who were trying to reload.

Verd spun off her seat, the prod at her side extending with a thrust and sweep, the first finding a startled throat, the second whipping one man off his feet, and a spin slamming down the bloody spearhead into his liver as she kept going towards an archer reloading there, eyes grim and focused. Up above, two Autobows clacked together, pump actions sliding the Compressed bolts up out of the magazine, no need to draw a bolt or string, and precise, deadly black missiles zipped out at the archers whose arrows thunked uselessly against the mantles.

Amber leapt right onto one man, rapier leading the way to his throat, kicking back off him, down, rolling, up, and slashing across an archer's throat in passing. Another throwing knife dropped into her hand, flicked sideways, and an excitable fellow screamed as it cut his bowstring, and the rebound nearly smashed him in the face and took it out of his hand. Before he could draw the dirk at his waist, she was on him, a long lunge spitting him cleanly.

Verd slid sideways, and a point-blank arrow shot whizzed past her cheek, shocking the archer here, who was scrambling to keep his distance as she charged at him very quickly. She lunged with her spear, there was a second of relief in his eyes when he saw it would fall short... and then it was three feet longer in mid-thrust, drove into his guts, and was twisted and pulled back, dragging micro-tears of flesh and guts with it in messy fashion. She planted her foot to stop, rotated around and snapped her hips, and the axeman rushing up behind her didn't drop his shield in time to prevent the heavy head from cutting into his thigh. As he stumbled, she moved up, spinning her spear to knock away his lunge with the sword, and then coming down from overhead to split his skull through his leather cowl.

There was only one man standing there unwounded, an archer who suddenly realized everyone else seemed to be dead or dying, and promptly panicked. He turned to flee, and a buzzing bolt took him square in the back. Reflex action took him forward two steps, he faltered, and the follow-up shot drilled him in the back of the head, snapping him forwards and down limply.

Tabi backed off two men whose skulls he'd crushed, a couple bloody wounds on his hide that he ignored for the moment, looking around alertly. Nothing was threatening the Horse, so he trotted over close to the door to wait for healing.

"Clear!" shouted Feist, spinning and looking around for any spotters close by. There'd be one placed at least a half-mile ahead and behind, looking for any patrols or other traders, but there was nothing around them now.

"Clear!" rang out from each of the girls in series, also spinning and looking for threats.

"Verd, call it!" Feist ordered calmly.

"Amber, circle and track them to their camp! Master Feist, forward to get the advance spotter! I'll take the rear! Veis, heal up Tabi and move the carriage forward in five minutes, find a place of cover and wait for us to return! I'll take the rear and return, Feist and I will follow Amber!"

Without batting an eye, Feist turned the lever that dropped the mantlets, the arrows snapping off as the shields dropped, and he swung down from the roof to the ground in a flowing motion that made him look more like a moving shadow then a person. In a second, he was on the ground and moving out, silent as a breath of wind, and about as easy to spot.

Amber began to circle the position, looking for the trail that led away, head low and sniffing for emphasis. Unbathed men stood out very sharply on this Imperial road.

Veis used the Amulet at her throat twice, touching it to Tabi's bloody wounds, and sealing them up quickly and painlessly with channeled Soul magic through the pendant. Verd swung up onto the hill, blending into the rough terrain and searching out the rough trail that would lead her to whoever was playing the spotter behind them.

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If the fact he hadn't bathed for weeks and enjoyed locoweed wasn't enough, he was drinking some very sour booze as he waited on guard duty. He had a nice enough place, but wasn't expecting her to go up the side of the rocky cliff, and then come down it on top of him, especially at the speed she did. Her knife flashed once, and he died in a drunken haze of surprise.

She collected his bow, knife, and purse, and then left him there to go vivic in the shadows, stealing silently past him to see what lay beyond.

It looked like an abandoned dwarven guardpost, the road to it carefully overgrown and disguised, stones removed to make rough fences and walls as a foundation for the tents and lean-tos around. There were a couple cliffs, which doubtless held rooms and storehouses within, knowing the dwarves, and men and women going around doing the mundane tasks of everyday living.

The men were all scarred, unwashed, and wearing weapons. There were guards here and there, especially on the larger cave entrance, where the men there had half-plate and shields, and were noticeably larger than most of the men here.

Amber stole around the edges of it as silently as she could, which was pretty quiet, as Feist had placed a premium on stealth operations, and they simply were not suited for direct assaults. She had a fair idea of the layout of this place after only a minute or two, and began to withdraw towards the guardpost –

A large, strong hand grasped her by the head as the stone beside her seemed to come alive, kicking out one of her legs, and the hook of an axe head rested against her throat, ready to dig in and tear it out instantly.

She was much stronger then she looked, easily as strong as a strong man, but the one holding her was heavy, much stronger... and smelled of rock dust, iron particles, forge fires, and mushroom ale.

"Du haz good reazon to be hier, gurl?" the deep, grating voice of a Rockborn echoed in her ears, as steady pressure forced her completely to her knees, and the grip on her head shifted to the arm that was palming a knife, a twitch of the axe warning her about trying anything. She could feel an ominous chi pressure against her ki, warning her that this Rockborn knew some earth-based profound form, and she was in real danger.

"These men ambushed my friends and I, and we killed them all. I am the scout sent to find out where their camp is so that we can clear them out completely."

"Hur?" The Rockborn sounded amused, she could feel his beard against her back. "A young'un und a gurl as a scout?" He didn't quite believe it.

"What do I look like? A borderguard? A feral? Someone lost?" she sniffed back at him. "I know you aren't with them, because you at least bathe."

There were quiet huffs behind her which she recognized as laughter. "Zpirit du hast, gurl. Fine, then." The hook at her throat went away, as did the release of her arm.

Instead of spinning away to face him and gain distance, Amber instead turned and sat down, startling the squat, powerful figure who'd been holding her.

He was indeed covered in dust and sand, blending so smoothly into the terrain that her eyes had skipped right past him. Some had brushed off when she held him, and she swore silently that someone in plate armor could be so quiet and undetectable, as she met his glittery eyes.

Master Feist's long knife tickled the dwarf's ear, and he stiffened ever so slightly in his almost immobility. "You've good sense, Rockborn. Your name and clan, sir," the hyn said, very calmly.

"Binst known as Grym, Clanhammer ov Clan Dauer," the dwarf replied carefully, but there was no fear in his voice. "Hynfolk, aye? Zound ye of Hoggle Hove, und a Ztalker, no lez. Ye far from home, small lord."

"We hammer the sky,"

"Und breathe der earth." The long knife was withdrawn, and the dwarf rotated to see Master Feist flow out of the undergrowth.

"And you are a fair ways from mighty Dauerhamar, Clanhammer," Master Feist said, looking the taller, broader dwarf up and down fearlessly, brow furrowing. "I passed through there, long ago, on my ways down from the Hove. Have we met afore, Rockborn? I'm called Feist."

The dwarf peered back at him, an equally thoughtful look upon his face. "I know not yur name or face, tho may haf seen in pazzing, Ztalker," the Clanhammer acknowledged. "Come du to be rid of de vermin beyond?" He waved at the brigands inhabiting the ruins of dwarven make. Though not of the local clans, he knew of their grievances against the Empire, that had driven them back from the trade roads cutting through lands that had been theirs for years beyond knowing.

"Yes. We can speak further after we have dealt with them. Are you prepared to slag them?" Feist asked with a grim smile.

"If du binst ready to draw deir lazt breath, aye," the dwarf responded, brow furrowing again, for his Hammer was Named Slag.

Feist blinked. His Sword was Named Ink... because it drew people's last breath...

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Verd arrived several minutes later, having further to run after finishing disposing of the far spotter. She was surprised to find they had found an ally, but the plan of assault was made quickly, and they attacked.

They were outnumbered twenty to one, and it wasn't even close. The Clanhammer was a monster, his burning Hammer roaring like a furnace as he whipped it around, threw it like a cannonball, and crashed his way through anything that got in his way with incredible power and great mass.

He and Feist worked together uncannily well, the hyn zipping this way and that, setting up panicking bandits for shockwave assaults from the Hammer, or ripping meteoric throws that were like solid fireballs plowing through screaming men. The two synergized as if they'd been fighting together for years, leading one another from point to point, covering one another and setting them up, always seeming to know what the other was going to do next, and making these brigands pay for it.

The girls got to watch this display of high-end martial savagery with wide eyes. Both hyn and dwarf were Profound Masters of different styles, and their skill was unmistakable. They'd seen Master Feist occasionally go at an enemy, but as they'd never faced these kinds of numbers, they'd never seen him pull out all the stops. He was a flitting shadow of knives, cuts, and instant kills, shifting from shadow to shadow so fast they couldn't really keep track of him, always in the wrong place at the wrong time for the enemy.

And Master Grym definitely showed them why you didn't want to engage a Rockborn in a straight-up fight. He was uncannily fast for his size, brutally powerful, and basically immovable. He could slam his burning Hammer through shields and plate alike, sundering metal and making stone leap under the impact of his chi, and they only had to watch his flanks, because anything in front of him just died.

The brigands didn't last near as long as they thought they might, and when the robber knight that was their leader came out to play, the Clanhammer took his challenge while the other three took his guards, and that fight was short, brutal, and very final all the way around...

Chapter end