Iron kingdoms excursions.., p.1
Iron Kingdoms Excursions Season Two: Volume Six, page 1
IRON KINGDOMS
EXCURSIONS
SEASON TWO, VOLUME SIX
RICHARD LEE BYERS
AERYN RUDEL
WILLIAM SHICK
Cover by
CARLOS CABRERRA, JOHAN GRENIER, AND IMAGINARY FRIENDS STUDIO
CONTENTS
MAP
WELCOME TO THE IRON KINGDOMS
DIVERSIONARY TACTICS
WOUNDED ENEMIES
UNCOMMON ALLIES
MAP
WELCOME TO
THE IRON KINGDOMS
The world you are about to enter is the Iron Kingdoms, a place where the power and presence of gods are beyond dispute, where mankind battles itself as well as all manner of fantastic races and exotic beasts, and where a blend of magic and technology called mechanika shape industry and warfare. Outside the Iron Kingdoms themselves—the human nations of the continent called Immoren—the vast and unexplored world of Caen extends to unknown reaches, firing the imaginations and ambitions of a new generation.
Strife frequently shakes these nations, and amid the battles of the region the most powerful weapon is the warjack, a steam-powered automaton that boasts great mobility, thick armor, and devastating weaponry. A warjack’s effectiveness is at its greatest when commanded by a warcaster, a powerful soldier-sorcerer who can forge a mental link with the great machine to magnify its abilities tremendously. Masters of both arcane and martial combat, these warcasters are often the deciding factor in war.
For the Iron Kingdoms, what is past is prologue. No event more clearly defines these nations than the extended dark age suffered under the oppression of the Orgoth, a brutal and merciless race from unexplored lands across the great western ocean known as the Meredius. For centuries these fearsome invaders enslaved the people of western Immoren, maintaining a vise-like grip until at last the people rose up in rebellion. This began a long and bloody process of battles and defeats. This rebellion would have been doomed to failure if a dark arrangement by the gods had not bestowed the Gift of Magic on the Immorese, unlocking previously undreamed-of powers.
Every effective weapon employed by the Rebellion against the Orgoth was a consequence of great minds putting arcane talents to work. Not only did sorcery allow evocations of fire, ice, and storm on the battlefield, but scholars combined scientific principles to blend technology with the arcane. Rapid advancements in alchemy gave rise to blasting powder and the invention of deadly firearms. Methods were developed to fuse arcane formulae into metal runeplates, creating augmented tools and weapons: the invention of mechanika. The culmination of these efforts was the invention of the first colossals, precursors to the modern warjack. These towering machines of war gave the Immorese a weapon the invaders could not counter. With the colossals the armies of the Rebellion drove the Orgoth from their fortresses and back to the sea.
The people of the ravaged lands drew new borders, giving birth to the Iron Kingdoms: Cygnar, Khador, Llael, and Ord. It was not long before ancient rivalries ignited between these new nations. Warfare became a simple fact of life. Over the last four centuries periodic wars have been broken up by brief periods of tense but wary peace, with technology steadily advancing all the while. Alchemy and mechanika have simultaneously eased and complicated the lives of the people of the Iron Kingdoms while evolving the weapons employed by their armies in these days of industrial revolution.
The most long-standing and bitter enmity in the region is that between Cygnar in the south and Khador in the north. The Khadorans are a militant people occupying a harsh and unforgiving territory. The armies of Khador have periodically fought to reclaim lands their forebears had once seized through conquest. The two smaller kingdoms of Llael and Ord were forged from contested territories and so have often served as battlegrounds between the two stronger powers. The prosperous and populous southern nation of Cygnar has periodically allied with these nations in efforts to check Khador’s imperial aspirations.
Just over a century ago, Cygnar endured a religious civil war that ultimately led to the founding of the Protectorate of Menoth. This nation, the newest of the Iron Kingdoms, stands as an unforgiving theocracy entirely devoted to Menoth, the ancient god credited with creating mankind.
In the current era, war has ignited with particular ferocity. This began with the Khadoran invasion of Llael, which succeeded in toppling the smaller kingdom in 605 AR. The fall of Llael ignited an escalating conflict that has embroiled the region for the last three years. Only Ord has remained neutral in these wars, profiting by becoming a haven for mercenaries. The Protectorate has launched the Great Crusade to convert all of humanity to the worship of Menoth. With the other nations occupied with war, this crusade was able to make significant gains and seize territories in northeastern Llael.
Other powers have been drawn into this strife, either swept up in events or taking advantage of them for their own purposes. The Scharde Islands west of Immoren are home to the Nightmare Empire of Cryx, which is ruled by the dragon Toruk and sends endless waves of undead and their necromantic masters to bolster its armies with the fallen of other nations. To the northeast the insular elven nation of Ios is host to a radical sect called the Retribution of Scyrah that is driven to hunt down human arcanists, whom they believe are anathema to their gods.
The savage wilds within and beyond the Iron Kingdoms contain various factions fighting for their own agendas. From the frozen north a disembodied dragon called Everblight leads a legion of blight-empowered warlocks and draconic spawn. The proud, tribal race known as the trollkin work to unite their once-disparate people to defend their lands. Deep in the wilds of western Immoren, a secretive order of druids commands nature’s beasts to oppose Everblight and advance their own various plans. Far to the east across the Bloodstone Marches, the warrior nation of the Skorne Empire marches inexorably closer, bent on conquering their ancient enemies in Ios as a step toward greater dominion. Shadowy conspiracies have arisen from hidden strongholds to play their own part in unfolding events. These include the Convergence of Cyriss, an enigmatic machine-cult that worships a distant goddess of mathematics, as well as their bitter enemies the cephalyx, a race of extremely intelligent and sadistic slavers who surgically transform captives into mindless drudges.
The Iron Kingdoms is a setting whose inhabitants must rely on heroes with the courage to defend them using magic and steel, whether in the form of rune-laden firearms or steam-driven weapons of war. The factions of western Immoren are vulnerable to corruption from within and subject to political intrigue and power struggles. All the while, opportunistic mercenaries profit from conflict by selling their temporary allegiance for coin or other favors. It is a world of epic legends and endless sagas.
Enter the Iron Kingdoms, and discover a world like no other!
DIVERSIONARY TACTICS
BY RICHARD LEE BYERS
Skonk disliked the vibrations of the train’s floor. A troll’s footing was supposed to be steady.
He made sure his uneasiness didn’t show in his expression. Ordinarily, humans walked warily around trolls, but a shackled prisoner who only stood as tall as their waists was less intimidating. Any display of trepidation was apt to encourage the two soldiers into cuffing and prodding him along more than they had been already.
It made him even more nervous to step from car to car. Still, he glanced at Blackroot Wood as it was flashing by the train’s windows. His captors likely only saw an endless bewilderment of pines, firs, and spruces, but a native of the forest had no difficulty distinguishing one spot from another.
When they passed through the next door, even he, who’d never ridden a train before, could tell this car was meant for the use of one man. The appointments of gleaming oak, brass, and leather were luxurious. The man in question was tall for a human and lean, with a golden triangle-in-a-circle badge and fox-fur trimming his grey garments. Once, his hair and goatee had been fox-red, too, but time was slowly bleaching them white.
One of the soldiers shoved Skonk, and he pitched forward with fetters clattering. “Kneel before Koldun Lord Radu Istori!” snarled the guard.
Radu’s mouth twisted as though he found this roughness crude. Still, he thanked the soldiers and ordered them to secure Skonk’s chains to a steel ring mounted on the wall before dismissing them.
Radu poured clear liquor from a crystal decanter as he studied his captive. “Do you understand who I am,” he asked in Molgur-Trul, Skonk’s own language, “what’s happening to you, and why?”
The condescension in the Greylord’s tone rankled. Skonk hid his resentment just as he’d concealed his anxiety.
“I know you’re the leader,” Skonk answered. “You can work magic, and you’re interested in the black stones.”
“The Orgoth ruins.” Radu sipped his drink. “Now, tell me why your people were so bent on keeping us away from them. Other kriels cooperate with humans. They trade with us and are much the better for it.”
Under other circumstances, Skonk might have spat at the mention of trollkin enthralled by soft human comforts. Instead, he said, “Where soldiers come today, loggers and farmers will come tomorrow, and even if that weren’t so, Dhunia has a shrine in that part of the forest.”
“Hm.” The Greylord’s casual response suggested the goddess’s faith was a superstition for primitives, not a concern for civilized men. “I assumed you wanted to
Skonk shook his head. The motion permitted him to take a surreptitious look through the window at the natural world—his world—streaking by outside. It seemed tantalizing close and depressingly distant at the same time. “We don’t know anything about the black stones.”
Radu smiled. “I suspect you just don’t want to share old legends that might make me more interested than I am already. But that’s pointless. Aeniv Rolonovik, my superior, is obsessed with recovering Orgoth secrets, and I’m rather fascinated myself. There’s no hope of persuading me to turn aside.”
“There are no legends.”
“You realize I only took you prisoner because I believe otherwise. And, if you’ll forgive my candor, because no one who looked important was available. If I decide you’re of no use…” The human shrugged. “But I think you’re lying, so here’s how it will work. You can confide in me now and receive lenient treatment. Otherwise, I’ll turn you over to the interrogators in Khardov. They’ll wring the truth from you, though it will be far less pleasant.”
“There are no legends.”
“You really are a stubborn little mule. Do you understand that no matter what you say or don’t, there’s nobody left to stop my expedition from going wherever it chooses? We fought, and your side lost.”
Skonk grunted. “We held you for a long time.”
While the human explorers had superior weapons, the kriel had strength, cunning, and knowledge of the forest. At the start it was enough, and in that struggle Skonk and the other pygs had played a pivotal role. Their small size helped when lying in ambush, and Skonk himself had led three such attacks. When he gave the signal, rifles roared to kill humans. Then the pygs bellowed battle cries and charged. Axes and war clubs smashed the soldiers’ legs from under them and toppled them for strikes to their vitals that followed an instant later. And afterward, when the victors returned to camp with their trophies, their hulking kindred finally showed them some respect.
Radu smiled crookedly. “True. You did inconvenience us for a while. Still, as long as I could send for reinforcements, the final outcome was never in doubt. Especially since I have a warjack.”
Skonk had been watching from the trees when Radu ordered the chugging, puffing warjack off the newly returned train, and he’d shivered at the sight of it. The hunchbacked automaton was as big as a dire troll, with cannons mounted on its shoulders and enormous fists that also served as shields.
“We could tell the thing was strong,” Skonk said. “That’s why we fought the way we did.” It had actually been his plan. After his recent successes, the trollkin had been willing to listen to him.
In preparation, pygs burrowed in the portion of the woods they’d chosen for their battleground. Then the kriel warriors shouted and pounded on their shields until their foes came forth to meet them.
Radu nodded. “You gave us an honest battle for the first time. Because you imagined that only by bringing all your strength to bear did you have any hope of stopping a Devastator. Unfortunately, you didn’t have any hope. Civilized creatures would have realized that.”
“We came close,” said Skonk. Peering from a thicket to assess the progress of the fight, he’d twice seen the warjack step in one of the concealed holes prepared for it. Each such plunge might have disabled one of its legs, but neither did. Rather, it clambered out of the traps and marched onward, shoulder guns blazing and roaring, shattering trees and blowing trollkin to bits.
Next, instead of the warjack stumbling into a burrow, some of Skonk’s fellow pygs erupted out of one to swarm around the automaton’s feet. Their slug guns boomed.
Skonk had felt a thrill of hope. Surely, he’d thought, firing at close range, the heavy weapons would breach the warjack’s armor and disable it! But the huge thing remained upright and hammered its shield-fists down on its attackers, smashing them like bugs.
Still, he’d been sure there was a chance. As the warjack advanced, Radu and his personal guards had needed to move up behind it so he could continue commanding it. That brought them near the spot where Skonk and his fellow pygs lay in wait, and if they could have killed the Greylord, that would at least have made it more difficult for the enemy to direct the Devastator.
Quickly, while the warjack was still busy with the burrower pygs, Skonk gave the signal, and he and his companions had fired a volley. Several soldiers dropped, and Radu staggered but didn’t fall. Evidently, his armor had protected him.
Skonk and his comrades burst forth screaming and rushed the enemy. Radu felled the pyg in the lead with a flare of magic. Skonk had circled around behind him, poised to chop at the human’s knee with his axe, and then something slammed into his head.
He woke a prisoner. His gloating captors informed him the kriel had lost the battle, any surviving warriors having been routed. Shortly thereafter, the human commander had sent for him.
Skonk glanced out the window. The remains of a towering, lightning-struck pine appeared, and despite himself, he smiled.
Radu’s eyes narrowed. “What are you thinking?”
Skonk considered saying nothing. But at this point it couldn’t matter, and the urge to knock the smugness out of his captor was suddenly irresistible. “You think you’re so much cleverer than my folk. But maybe not.”
“Meaning what?”
“If we could have won by dropping the warjack in a hole or killing you, that would have been fine. But we knew we probably couldn’t, so we were ready to run. Not in terror the way it looked, but sensibly, after losing the least number possible.”
The human shrugged. “We still won, and if there are more of you left than there appeared to be, I’ll simply retain custody of the ´jack.”
“But what if we planned the battle to make you believe you’d crushed us? That way, you’d never suspect that while some of us were fighting, others were off doing something different.”
“Which was what?”
“The only thing that worried me was that you might have a magical way of sensing trouble. Who knows what a Greylord can do? So, I was glad when you sent for me. If I kept you talking, you wouldn’t cast any spells.”
“What are you babbling about? What did you people do?”
“Pulled up a section of track.”
The car leaped into the air. Skonk snatched hold of the ring securing his fetters.
The car tumbled. Repeated impacts jolted Skonk, and then a table, bouncing around like everything else, smashed down on his leg and brought an explosion of pain. His limb was crushed below the knee, half-severed and gushing blood.
Even so, Skonk was more fortunate than Radu. When the car came to rest on its side, the human sprawled motionless with his neck bent at an unnatural angle.
Indeed, thought Skonk, gritting his teeth in defiance of the pain, he was considerably more fortunate. His bleeding was already slowing. The leg would heal, or, if it came off, would grow back. Which reminded him…
He reached inside his old leather coat and brought out a tiny troll with a grossly oversized left hand. The whelp looked rather like him, and as well it might, considering he’d grown it by slicing off his own left hand several days before. He’d had a hunch such a helper might prove useful.
His captors would have discovered the whelp if they’d searched Skonk more thoroughly. But they had no idea of the tricks trolls could play to protect their homes and sacred places.
Dragging the too-large hand behind it, the whelp set forth to find the key or some other implement Skonk could use to free himself from the shackles. Outside the derailed train, trollkin howled and rushed in to finish off any human survivors.
WOUNDED ENEMIES
BY WILLIAM SHICK
The Nyschatha Mountains, Khador
Nikolai had left the small village of Skorev Druggan three days ago. For those three days, he’d given the four men following him the chance to change their minds and go back home. He had hoped by making his way up the rugged Nyschatha Mountains he would discourage their pursuit. The climb was not an easy one, and he was confident the prospective bounty hunters were not prepared for the harsh cold of the highland nights or the heavy exertion that long days of mountain travel required. He had to admit to himself the strenuous trail he was blazing was even taking its toll on him. He could feel the slightest sensation of fatigue in his powerful frame, and he could sense each day how he covered less ground than the day before. But still the men dogged his steps. The latest bounty on his head must have been high, indeed.
