Biracial Edgelord Can't Make Immortal : Power of Ten, Book Seven

The hobgoblin chieftain had actually survived the Fireball and lingering flames from it, and had tottered to his feet. He looked up just in time for Chekwort's heavy bolt to crash through his chainmail and kick him back off his feet.

The fighting at the back of the caravan didn't seem to be going well for the raiders. The caravan guards had turned and charged right back into the rear ambush, spitting and trampling those on the ground, lancing down the wolves and spilling their riders off when they did so. The ogre was a bit slow to realize the fighting was going against him, especially when the drovers from three different wagons stood up with cocked crossbows, whistling, and the riders spilled out of the way so the ogre could take half a dozen nearly point-blank shots to the front, which didn't go too well for him.

"Hammel, instruct your Elemental to finish off everything laying on the ground, then to head home. Pay it with this." I handed over a smooth sphere of jade the size of a chicken egg with an Eternal Light upon it, glowing deep and profound.

"I don't have to pay my Elemental, Lady Edge…" he started to say, and then the stolid Inclu native whitened and hastily accepted the stone as I frowned just a tiny bit at him. "Yes, Lady Edge, I'll do just that!" he assured me quickly.

"Mick, Braun, go check out that chieftain and his companions. I think they are wearing actually fairly new armor and swords. Isa, go with them, and Presti up any spare change, weapons, and the arrows they used."

"You got it, m'Lady!" the Mick stated, hopping down from his Disk and trotting with a hillman's ease along the slopes. The big axeman paced him, still on his Disk and bow ready, while Isa and Ham followed on theirs. The Mick's Claymore flashed every time he crossed a burned corpse, making sure they stayed dead, and the way one goblin gargled and clutched at its opened throat when he strode past made sure his grim precautions were appropriate to the occasion.

Drovers and shooters down below were likewise slitting the throats of any Bleakers who'd tumbled to the bottom of the ridge there.

"Lady Edge?" a fellow with broad shoulders and a gut running a bit over his belt called up at me.

"Master Merchant," I replied coolly, never raising my Voice, but everyone heard me regardless. "If anyone is wounded, gather them up and I will see to them shortly. Binding the wounds first makes the magic go further."

His eyes flickered at the idea of saving a Healing Potion or two, but the whole caravan had heard, and his medic was doubtless already moving to the back. "A blessing to run into you, then, Lady Mage!" he returned the courtesy. "I am Oskil Ampert, master of this caravan!"

"Are you a factor for House Garond?" I asked down at him calmly, eyeing the russet and brown livery of his guards.

"Aye, so I am," he confirmed warily.

"We may have unwelcome news for you in a moment."

His face turned a bit grimmer, and he quickly turned to issue orders for the riders to make sure they weren't being followed by another force hastily. "Were there more riders ahead of us, perchance, Lady Edge?" he called up carefully.

"No, nor were our services purchased to cause trouble for you, if that was your concern. The goblins, however…" I reached down to one sleeping goblin before the Earth Elemental reached it, even now warily accepting the glowing jade from Hammel and swallowing it, before going back to its duties with somewhat more enthusiasm. I hauled the goblin upright and sprawled him on the Mick's Disk, still snoring away. "Have you a mage down there capable of Charming a goblin for information, Master Ampert?" I asked him leisurely.

"I do, Lady Edge!" he called back up.

-There is a force of cavalry coming up the road behind them, Mistress!- Duum abruptly /warned me.

"You have visitors coming from behind, Master Ampert! Were you expecting a guard escort?" I asked them all, and watched him swear.

"We were the last caravan out for the day when we left, and weren't no patrol coming out after us!" the caravan master replied quickly. "Circle the wagons! What's coming up behind us is likely no friend of ours!"

Spared the brunt of one fight only to fall into another, the drovers and guards were cursing and swearing, pulling ahead and turning the wagons sideways to block as much of the approach along the river as possible. The road was narrow enough to make it so, and soon enough the wagons were in place, the horses released and reined in beyond the wagons, ready to be mounted and run off to deny any brigands their easy prizes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I think it is time to give everyone a proper lesson on intimidation tactics and how to treat the treacherous. Does everyone feel up to a lesson on this bright sunny day?" I asked rhetorically.

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My smile was delightfully cruel. Everyone with me directly blanched.

"This one be having a purse full of fresh Federyn gold, a new sword, and fresh mail, m'Lady!" the Mick called out after an expert frisking of the dead chieftain. "New swords and mail on his guards, too!"

I flicked up a flight of Vivic Skullbarbs, sent the trio out to hit three corpses and start them Burning unwhite. The land could use the direct sustenance, and we didn't need to feed the scavengers or the necromancers. "Chekwort, kindly start tossing the corpses atop the vivic flames." I sent out another flight, spacing them out so he could do the job easily enough. "The rest of you, help him do so by whatever means you care to while I go down and deliver a lesson to some coin-obsessed recalcitrants. Join me when they are all being Fed to the Land."

A flurry of Phantom Servants, Summoned creatures, and the like joined the muscle boys doing the dragging and tossing of corpses onto the bodies already starting to pool white mist around themselves, dead flesh going up like flames ate ready timber.

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Six minutes later, as I was finishing up treating the last of the wounded horses, the incoming force of cavalry came pounding up, lances out, clearly ready to run off or kill any raiders from the Bleaklands despoiling the wagons and cargo here. They pulled up short when they saw the wagons blocking the road, and a bunch of unfriendly crossbows pointed in their direction.

"Crondius Pike!" the caravan master Ampert called out in a curse, obviously recognizing the men here, although they were in nigh-identical mail and harness with closed helms. Stuffy and hot, but they'd been expecting to go right into a fight, no reason to stay in leathers.

A fellow in breastplate and greaves sauntered his white-socked black stallion out from the line of horsemen, even doffing his helm to identify himself. "Master Ampert! Fancy meeting you out here on the trade road! We'd picked up sign of a group of raiders coming toward the road, and thought to head them off here!" he reported cheerfully.

"And take back the swords, armor, and gold you traded them to make that raid?" Master Ampert swore back at him. On cue, said armor and swords flew over the wagons and clanged to the stone of the tradeway, wiping the smirk off the man's face. "Go, you backstabbing cur. I'll not report this through channels, as I've no real proof, save this goblin…" his hard smile stretched out as the tied-up goblin was hoisted up on the wagon, and Pike's smile became an actual frown.

"Dat him! Dat da humie wut spoke wit da big boss! Paid boss lots of shinies to loot da fat target you wuz, he did! We wuz so happy to be paid what weza do anyways! Boss even got da ogre an' wolf riders t' help to make sure we gets dem all, he did!"

Nobody was going to believe a goblin in Federyn court, especially one so obviously Charmed to say whatever the Charmer wanted to hear.

Nevertheless, word would get out through other channels, and this fellow's reputation in Absoglor and its environs, always good steady work hunting Bleaker humanoids or hungry creatures down, would take a nose-dive.

That also applied to the other mercenaries riding with him. They all shuffled uncertainly, looking at one another.

Their choices were to run and disperse, hopefully finding jobs elsewhere… or to kill everyone in front of them so the word wouldn't spread. They'd been willing to do that anyway, figuring the Bleakers would do most of the work for them, but fighting men ready for them behind defenses was a far cry different from riding down humanoids willy-nilly!

"I see a dead fool, and fifty fools following him."

The voice was quiet, elegant, and as cold and cool as a fresh grave. All the men shivered as the elfin rose up from behind the line of wagons, and suddenly half a dozen other individuals in colorful garb rose up on similar Disks, all black and ringed by carved skulls and blood-red roses.

"Zanzyrans!" choked whispers rang out, and their morale immediately began to waver.

"Spread out! Before they-" Pike began to shout.

"Do not move, or I kill you all," the cold, mild voice cut through his orders like a razored knife.

The spell gathered in streaks of black and crimson, skulls the size of giants appearing around her, red roses leaking from their eyes, and crimson tongues the size and shape of barbed javelins extending from their over-sized mouths.

All of them were pointing at Captain Pike.

The elfin, her skin shockingly white against dark hair whose tips were scarlet as fresh blood, crimson frilly leathers or silks or something accented in black making her stand out like a bright flower in the desolation of the Bleaklands, drifted forward on her Disk. The Skullthorns drifting right along with her, unerringly aimed at Captain Pike, who for some reason had gone deathly pale.

Her eyes were as red as fresh blood, liquid, brilliant, not fiery, and his blood seemed to have gone very, very cold indeed.

Completely undeterred by their numbers, she drew up ten feet away from him, her expression so apathetic and relaxed she could have been out for a mid-day stroll.

"Oh, do release that arrow," she said without turning her head towards the short, bandy-legged nomad who had fit an shaft to his horsebow, his expression a mask of hate. "Go ahead. I'll wait right here while you do."

She didn't bother to look at him. The Khanate nomad, his arm trembling, almost drew it back, but stopped himself.

From the other side, a crossbow snapped up and released with a twang.

The sharp-eyed saw a blur streak past her ear, circle her head, and shoot back the way it had come. The sniper managed a "Huk!" of astonishment as it drove into his face and tore him right out of his saddle, dead before he hit the ground.

She didn't even blink. The nomad on the other side hurriedly lowered his horsebow and praised the Immortals for staying his hand.

"I see forty-nine fools following one idiot. Fools can be forgiven for their ignorance, but idiots, idiots get to enjoy the consequences of their actions. Go away, fools." She made the tiniest of dismissive gestures. "Idiot, you stay."

There was only a moment of hesitation, and then deep, yet somehow shrill laughter rose as the Skulls lifted slightly, and fires in four different hues ignited over the tips of their tongue-Thorns.

The nomad thankful to have lived turned his steppe mount and rode away without looking back.

It was the stone that broke the dam. Without a word, the other riders turned around and spurred their horses to great speed back the way they'd come.