Chapter Thirty-Six: Pursuit

Chapter Thirty-Six: Pursuit

Tom wrenched his spear from the corpse of an orc, and the brute collapsed bonelessly into the long grass. Sesame roared, and a cloud of razor sharp shards of obsidian peppered an approaching pack of winewolves even as Tom’s spear lashed out and claimed the orc’s life.

Tom wheeled Sesame around as a bar of fire flashed into the night sky. Rosa, next to them atop Coal, was targeting down wind sprites that had begun to attack them from above. She had soot smeared across her face, but her mouth was drawn in a savage grin. Tom waited for Darius to finish healing a nearby monk who’d taken a gash to the arm, and then they surged forward.

This same situation had repeated over and over again for the last hour. They were being harassed on all sides by orcs and all manner of mana beasts, but they needed to keep pressing forwards. It was imperative that they break the cordon.

Every member of the expedition had been handpicked for it for their ability to resist the orcish debuffs, but not many of them had mountable familiars. The nearby orcs were close, but were mainly hanging back, directing the beasts around them to be as much of a nuisance as possible and slow them down.

Tom, Rosa, Darius, and the handful of other monks with familiar mounts had formed a small cavalry unit to try and strike out and strike down the orcs. It was immediately obvious that the collection of creatures became less cohesive and more bestial with none of the orcs nearby to direct them. The massive orcs instantly became priority targets.

They were making solid progress, which was to be expected. There were roughly an equal number of orcs surrounding them, and even these orcs were not a match for an Idealist one to one. Especially not with their insidious slowing auras completely ineffective. The monks fought with unmatched discipline and ferocity, finally having grasped the chance to fight this  particular enemy.

But it was still not going to be enough.

The aim was not to win, but to win free. Several hundred orcs mounted on vicious grass sharks would be upon them, and soon. At first, it had seemed a simple enough task: punch through the cordon and flee. Then it would just be a case of fending off pursuit while retreating -difficult, but not outside the realms of possibility for such disciplined fighters as the Monks.

But they had run into a problem. Only minutes after they had begun to retreat, the orcs shadowing the expedition had begun closing the net. And the problem became obvious.

As the expedition had pushed towards the orc camp they had been slowed by a deluge of monsters, mana beasts, and other creatures. They had initially assumed they were being displaced by the growing numbers of orcs. They were wrong.

Many of those beasts that they had taken to be mindlessly fleeing a new threat they had allowed to flow past them. No sense wasting energy on killing something that just wanted to get past them.

But the orcs were controlling them somehow, dominating them. And now, they had called many of those creatures back.

The expedition found itself fighting into a veritable tide of beasts as it tried to force a retreat. The hundred or so orcs surrounding them didn’t even have to risk their hides in direct combat, all they needed to do was throw enough bodies at them to slow them down.

It worked, until Sunrise organised the counter-offensive cavalry squad. They could charge through the tide and take out the small knots of orcs directing the creatures near them, and thereby lessen the pressure on the rest of them.

They were still in a precarious position, teetering on the edge of slipping the trap. Then Sus and Sol returned, harmonising their Silence mana shields to blast through a loitering pack of wind sprites. And through their ears, he heard the distant howls of grass sharks.

“Incoming!” Tom yelled, as Rosa began casting around for another group of orcs to charge. “Ten minutes!”

The monks behind them surged forward, redoubling their efforts to break through. The beasts all around them responded, throwing themselves at the monks with wild abandon.

All around them, skills flashed and lit the night with streaks of colour, impossible shapes, great plumes of elemental power gouging into the tide of mana beasts and hurling them back.

Columns of earth smashed beasts and swallowed them. Spines of rock burst from the ground, seeking to impale and impede. Clouds of dust billowed outwards to choke and stymie. Soil rose to create impromptu barriers and brown energy pulsed to buff endurance and toughness. The Earth Idealists simultaneously steadied the ground beneath their feet and helped push the expedition forwards.

Jets of compressed air abraded beasts until they were little more than husks, others simply picked them up and tossed them, more threw dust and debris into their eyes, fouling their aim as they clawed and bit and swiped at their comrades. Playful breezes swept over them, granting them speed buffs even as they fouled the diving attacks of monsters above.

Fire swept forward, clearing destructive paths. Water scoured beasts from their way. Strength and Endurance, Speed and Agility, Shadow and Light, weapons Ideals, along with all manner of other, more abstract Ideals coordinated towards two goals: increasing their speed and killing whatever was in front of them.

For a moment, it appeared as though the beast tide was unending, that despite the shared power of one hundred and fifty Idealists combined and leveraged against them, the orcs would simply be able to bury them under sheer weight of flesh.

Then they were through, Tom, Rosa, and Darius leading the impromptu cavalry unit through a breach after smiting another group of orcs. The expedition leapt to take advantage, widening the gap and pressing through it, refusing to let themselves be boxed in again. After a furious few minutes, they had won free.

The orcs and beasts were now nipping at their heels, a wolf trying to pull them down, to hamstring them, instead of a pack surrounding them. It was an improvement, even if the situation was not ideal. But the tides could easily change.

“They’re here!” Tom yelled behind him, and he heard several other Idealists chorus the response. Through Sus and Sol he could see the several hundred grass shark-mounted orcs flowing like a tidal wave through the plains towards them. In their wake came several hundred more beasts.

Once more, the expedition increased the pace. Now that they only had to focus on their rear, the speed increased massively. Aside from the odd beast here and there, which were easily dealt with, they were free to move as fast as they could reasonably maintain. Currently, they were moving a little faster than was actually feasible for a long distance pursuit, but they desperately needed to gain some ground on the foot-based pursuers.

The sight of so many grass sharks coordinating was shocking. They were approaching with frightening speed, muscling other beasts and even other orcs out of the way to get to them quicker. Smaller units broke away from the main pack, picking up speed and swinging out to either side of them.

The Earth-adjacent Idealists began throwing up fields of stone spikes to their flanks and rear as the orcs pounded towards them, trying to force the flanking units wider and slow the pursuit down. Now clear of the surrounding beasts, and with plenty of untrampled grass to work with, Rosa started a conflagration to either side. Other Fire-adjacent Ideals picked up on it and fanned the flames, which Rosa then directed out into the path of the flankers.

A score of orcs died or were thrown from their mounts as the grass sharks tried to navigate the new obstacles. Even more never emerged from the pall of smoke and fire, and many of those that did were sporting hideous burns.

Rosa was obviously low on mana. Control skills were never cheap, and taking control of such a huge amount of fire and smoke was incredibly taxing. She had already had to drink a mana potion at least twice that Tom had seen, and she couldn’t have had many left. Now she was conserving mana, firing her spectacular bow behind her with unerring accuracy as she rode.

Many of the monks joined in as the orcs closed, levelling throwing knives and axes, javelins and spears, along with more traditional bows and crossbows, into a withering fusilade. Tom, for his part, fished some enchanted traps Cub had made for him from his storage and simply lobbed them as hard as he could into their paths. The result was several outrageously coloured explosions and handfuls of orcs and sharks tossed skyward like dolls.

Even with almost fifty orcs cut down on the approach they didn’t slow down. In fact, they gained speed as they closed, thundering onwards, shouting to each bawdily and spurring their mounts with vicious kicks.

All of a sudden there was but seconds until they were on them. The monks at least had one advantage: the grass sharks could not use their signature leaping attack while mounted. It was small consolation; grass sharks were plenty deadly enough anyway.

At the last moment, the expedition turned around and braced. The grass sharks, mouths slavering, sides heaving from the chase, crashed into them with a fury. More piled on, spreading around them, trying to pin them down again. In the distance, Tom could see the rest of the pursuit catching up.

The combined auras of the orcs jockeyed against the handpicked selection of resistances, buffs, control skills, enchantments, and other enhancements of the monks. Many of the orcs attempted to use the same pulling skill Tom had encountered before to drag monks out of their defensive line and savage them.

For the most part, the monks won out. Here and there though, whatever combination of things a monk was relying on to stave off the slowing aura failed, and the monk was cut down when they found they could not react fast enough or keep moving in a fighting retreat.

Others found themselves suddenly dragged out of line and piled on by several orcs and their savage mounts at once. Others fell to lucky throws of orc javelins or slings, taking injuries that were either instantly fatal, even to an Idealist, or so grievous they died before a healer could reach them.

Everyone was pulling their weight, giving their all to try and fend off the sharks. Tom was near the centre of the rear now, so as best to maximise his own slowing aura. Rosa was firing her bow without pause. Darius was darting to and fro, simultaneously reinforcing the line where it weakened and picking up those who fell. His bees were especially busy.

Suddenly, there came a great, reverberating twang, and the orcs engaging them all froze as though they were statues. Tom cast about through his birds, and found Abbess Sunrise standing in their centre, one hand cast out towards their enemies.

“Leave them!” she shouted. “We must go! Leave them to chase again!”

And then she sagged on her feet, the sheer power of the surge skill having drained her. One of the scouts dragged her up behind them onto a horse familiar, and then the expedition was off again. Still, some of them couldn’t resist parting shots as they left. More orcs were slain, unable to move or defend themselves.

See how you like it, Tom thought with grim satisfaction. There was a twinge of anxiety there too, though. No matter how powerful that surge skill was, it couldn’t last forever, and there were still plenty of mounted orcs left. There were still thousands of other beasts in pursuit, for that matter.

And they had a long way to go til they were home.