Skylands: Large Living
Skylands: Large Living by David J Rust
Macaferty Jahn didn't understand newcomers and hated their slang. He knew it probably wasn't the universal but they all seemed so ...insulting. They were as bad as the terrmorah and trolls even if the newcomer in question had been transformed into a member of a much smaller race such as his own. He'd met tahvic newcomers and they all had perplexing ways of speaking and thinking. Most of them didn't even put their family name before their given name. It was insulting to one's lineage and disrespectful to the adopted tahvic race. While charging into battle, though, following the ill-conceived tactics of a newcomer wizard, he resented them even more. Accidentally, his paws crushed a wooden wagon as he launched himself at the enemy line.
Like all tahvic, Jahn understood the role of relative size. Only three feet high -under normal circumstances- he constantly had to deal with creatures larger than himself. Of all the Twenty Peoples, only the thaylene race were smaller than a tahvic. But despite the elemental magics that could warp and twist the status quo into virtually any configuration desired, no tahvic worth the name would ever resort to a growth spell. Regardless of size a true tahvic would eagerly confront one of the bull-like terrmorah in a fair fight. More times than not, the tahvic would win. Trolls, if not so damnably proud -a trait that the tahvic shared- were also no better off for their hulking height. To one of the weasel-like people of Jahn's lineage, size was merely an indicator of challenge, not something to be overcome with spellcraft.
With one incantation, however, the wizard newcomer, Aaron, had sucked all the joy out of the fight.
Snarling, Jahn kicked at a calf-high terrmorah and sent him sailing a dozen feet into a tree. It was completely unsatisfying.
What kind of name was "Aaron"anyway? It sounded like one of those effete names that the serpentine jessai'id took. It didn't have enough vowels or consonants to be a faerie name but the pretentiousness of how it sounded to tahvic ears was undeniable. Almost all newcomers to the floating islands and continents of Talvali had stupid names.
He'd met a few with a sensible tahvic name like his own -Jahn- but they were rare. A name didn't make up for their overall senselessness and disrespect.
A flight of arrows struck him in the chest but bounced off the heavy, leather shirt that had been enlarged along with the rest of him. He looked towards the archers about seven strides away and kicked at the ground, raising a hurricane of dust, dirt, and rocks. He let out a roar as he charged but his heart wasn't in it. Soon that tiny collection of humans, dwarves, orthoc, and goblins would be ground underfoot and he wouldn't have even raised a sweat in the process. He hadn't even had to use his club, yet. If only metal objects could be enlarged by the wizard's spell. At least then he'd have a proper weapon like Mulchasis, his sword.
Aaron was probably loving this.
The sky was dark with layers upon layers of clouds as well as the passing Dayland of Tomin Kel. It would eclipse Arvarren for the next month. But even when one of the higher islands of the Daylands, Cloudlands, or Lightlands hadn't interposed itself between the sun and a Duskland like Arvarren, the miles and miles of atmosphere and clouds still kept the land in a soft, late-afternoon twilight. Tomin Kel was big enough that, directly overhead, meant deeper shadow for the land below. Normally it would have been the perfect environment for a tahvic. Dim light and warm air made for an advantageous battleground in small versus large creatures.
Thanks to Aaron's damnable spell, though, he was a blunt object. He was a giant that loomed over the landscape with as much grace and subtlety as a troll.
Aaron had come through one of the sky storms that brought all newcomers to Talvali. His world had lost a ten-mile wide chunk that now floated high and far away in the Lightlands. Like many, it had possessed enough wind and air when pulled through to be consolidated into air crystals that kept it afloat. Everything else had also been transformed upon its arrival. This made it typical for Lightlands. Aaron, the blunt food, hadn't even believed that magic existed before a chunk of his vast city had gotten pulled into the skies of Talvali. He had claimed that not only did his parent world not have it but that his home world hadn't even had gods, dragons, or tahvic, either.
The last bit was the most insulting.
A steady creaking came from the castle walls. Glancing in that direction, he saw something that finally gave him pause. From the middle of the battlefield, tiny warriors from both sides battling each other and trying to stay away from his colossal stride, he saw something new being wheeled into position.
A catapult. These backwater, in-bred brigands actually had a catapult. His scowl lessened. Maybe it would prove to be a challenge. It would have better if they'd actually possessed the coin to purchase a black powder cannon but he couldn't choose his enemies any more than he could hammer respect into the thick skull of a newcomer. Once the spell wore off and he was back to a respectable size, he'd have words with Aaron.
He ground his foot back and forth over two smashed bodies -probably a human and an orthoc; he couldn't tell any more- and turned towards the group with the catapult. He started to run.
The ground quaked beneath his paws. Trees that surrounded the old, dilapidated castle shook and lost leaves. His eyes focused on the siege weapon.
An explosion of pain cracked into his chin like an upper-cut.
Jahn stumbled back and tried to clear the stars from his vision. They hadn't had time to fire the catapult and he'd not seen another. Confused, he stumbled back, losing all forward momentum. A shadow rose accompanied by a loud, low noise that sounded like creaking leather. The tahvic scowled. Despite the imbalance of his sizable mass, Jahn kept his feet. Before him stood trouble.
The brigands had no wizard -of that, he and Aaron had been sure- but that didn't mean they didn't have access to magic. Looming before him stood a terrmorah. Still growing from whatever dust, ungent, oil, powder, or potion had been used on him, the black-horned enemy wore thick, leather armor; had deep brown, shaggy fur; bore a wooden club; and glared at Jahn from black, rage-filled eyes. He was already taller than the enlarged tahvic and continued to expand. His muscles, like most of his kind, were large and excessive. His tufted tail swished behind him as he cracked his knuckles. The terrmorah then hefted his club menacingly.
Jahn felt a grin spread across his face. He finally had his fight.
Tactically, he should have charged immediately before his adversary's growth could reach its peak. But the humanoid bull before him presented a challenge. He didn't want to waste it.
The tattered bandits represented a large band that had been ravaging the countryside on horseback for the better part of three years. With all the old ruins across Arvarren the king's legions had been searching high and low. As explained to him, it had been like finding a needle in a haystack. The Seventh Royal Legion, however, had managed it. They'd surrounded the old ruin and settled in to starve out the brigands two weeks prior. It had only been when one of the ranging bands of cutthroats had encountered and sacked Jahn and Aaron's small camp that the two had gotten involved.
They had to get involved.
The brigands had taken Sara.
Jahn felt the same about newcomers as most natives did. His preconceived notions and actual experiences with them had only reinforced those feelings. Amongst the newcomers there was not a single, self-reliant, capable individual. They whined, shivered, ran, and displayed a shocking ignorance of both honor and honorable fighting. He believed all these things because he'd seen them first-hand.
Sara had been the only one to challenge those notions.
She had come through the same storm as Aaron. Unlike the bookish man, though, she understood the arts of fighting and showed respect to fellow warriors. And while Aaron had been transformed into one of the leonine auranathi she'd remained what she said she'd always been: a human.
Her eyes were odd -they had a faint, slanted look to them- and her skin color was faintly tanned. This was unusual for most humans he knew. But despite this her short hair was an auspicious color: jet black. She was also short for a human. Most surprising to Jahn, though, was that she had never shown weakness nor disrespect. She understood the warrior's way.
She called her combat style by an alien, newcomer word: "Bushido" While she had informed Jahn that it was an archaic art and was mostly taught as recreation or for competition, she had taken it seriously. She had even taught others. With just a few strokes of a sword she'd demonstrated her skill to him. While sparring with Jahn her blade had disarmed him so smoothly he almost hadn't felt it. Her newcomer sword hadn't even broken his skin.
He'd fallen in love with her that very minute.
Had the brigands not attacked in the night like the cowardly thieves they were, she never would have been taken. And had they not cruelly deprived her of her weapons he knew she would not need his help.
Somehow they'd gotten past the blockading legion to rejoin their forces inside the old castle. Somehow the foolish, old gryphon commanding the Royal Legion let them. Somehow the already-engaged soldiers didn't seem to care when Aaron and Jahn showed up to offer their aide.
No one ignored a tahvic if they were smart.
Right now, though, he feared for the fate of his friend. He knew what dark purposes kidnappers would probably have for Sara. And while he felt sure he'd make more than a few of them eunuchs should they try, he felt honor-bound to strive for her freedom.
The terrmorah growing before him seemed to recognize Jahn's unwavering intent even as he swelled past three times the tahvic's height. Jahn continued to show him the courtesy of waiting for the magic to stop.
Terrmorah were normally two-and-a-half to three times the height of a tahvic. It was clear that whatever magic was in use it was more potent than Aaron's. When the terrmorah stopped growing, the bull stood five times taller than Jahn; nearly twice as tall as the nearby high towers and old battlements. He snorted and wiped the back of his hand across his muzzle. The big warrior looked down on Jahn with contempt.
"Surrender,"he rumbled. "Surrender and you shall live to see another day."
Jahn continued to smile. He didn't return the comment. He didn't need to. He also felt some grudging respect for the giant. He'd offered him surrender. It showed ...potential. Instead of speaking Jahn simply bowed, gripped the heft of his own club, and sprang forward.
The terrmorah swung his huge weapon in an arc over his head but was not prepared for the lopsidedness of his expanded weight. The blow was too slow and Jahn was upon him before he was ready. Aaron had said something during his wizardly studies that the magic being tapped probably addressed hosts of issues that came with excessive size. Jahn hadn't cared. Magic was magic.
The tahvic's leap was shorter than it should have been but as he'd been enlarged for the better part of a half hour, now, he was experienced enough to compensate. His club struck the terrmorah's knee with a resounding crack. It elicited its share of blood and a bellow of pain from his adversary.
The bull stumbled back and one of his hooves slammed down next to the catapult, crushing two of its handlers.
Jahn didn't hesitate. He leapt again, digging his small claws into the terrmorah's left leg and pulling himself up by hefts of shaggy hair. He reached as far as he could and swung his club again. This time he aimed for the leather codpiece his opponent wore. He struck but only gained a glancing blow. At the same time, another explosion of pain sent him tumbling from his perch.
He tasted blood in his mouth and his vision was blurry again. The terrmorah had swung his club down across his body, scraping off the giant tahvic like a bothersome cat.
The giant was not letting up.
Muscles straining, the terrmorah charged. He bellowed a challenge as his giant hooves crashed against the ground.
Jahn, tossed onto his tail, rolled to one side. Narrowly, the black hooves missed him. As he spun his body into a standing position, his head swam. This fight seemed more brutal at its larger size. Normally two hits to his head wouldn't make him so prone to dizziness. He'd have to talk to Aaron about that. At the same time, his opponent was also much stronger than any other terrmorah he'd ever faced. The bull wasn't as skilled but skill could be overcome by raw power.
Jahn took several steps back into a crouch. A scream and the crunch of tiny bones beneath his left foot let him know that someone on the battlefield below hadn't moved quickly enough. The terrmorah laughed.
"Why don't you speak, little one? Is fear is revealing your people's true nature at last? Your cowardice will be legendary after we drive off the king's legion!"
Fury rose. The terrmorah were known as rage-filled brutes but their relationship with darker emotions also meant they knew how to elicit them. Jahn had his pride as did all tahvic. He couldn't ignore the taunt. Still, he also could not allow his anger to cloud years of skill and training.
He gritted his sharp teeth and charged his foe.
The terrmorah gripped his club tighter and raised it above his head. His movements made it clear he was being more careful this time.
As Jahn came into his shadow, the giant swung the weapon down.
Jahn made himself small.
The giant tahvic dove forward, curled into a tight ball (still managing to crush a few of fleeing brigands), and rolled between the terrmorah's hooves.
The intended blow overshot and the giant stumbled.
Jahn un-tucked and swung his weapon at the back of the terrmorah's ankles. The wooden club cracked heavily against the joint. All of Jahn's not inconsiderable strength went into the blow. A small amount of Sara's training maximized the impact. Then, as the bull bellowed in pain, Jahn sprang to his giant paws and struck again, this time at the other ankle. The second blow, stronger than the first, broke bone. The terrmorah roared in fury and pain but could no longer stand. He stumbled forward and began to fall. Seizing the opportunity, Jahn leaped and climbed the creature's legs. He scaled the giant as far and fast as he could in a few seconds. Then, he cracked the enlarged terrmorah one more time and sent him flailing into the old castle wall.
The building, even in its prime, had been built to withstand catapult fire. It had not been built to handle tons upon tons of falling terrmorah.
Flagstone, granite blocks, and ancient concrete shattered in all directions. Cries of dismay from the brigands mingled with shouts of triumph from the legion. The catapult that had been wheeled out was crushed beneath the terrmorah's monstrous body. Debris rained down upon the bull's back as the hole in the castle wall laid the enemy defenses bare.
Jahn strode forward and kicked some rubble aside. His enemy was still moving. He placed his club at the nape of the terrmorah's neck. "You should surrender now,"he said.
The commander of the legion, the aging gryphon that he was, proved as inept at capturing fleeing brigands as he was commanding a siege. Of the hundred or so who had made the castle their home, thirty had been allowed to escape. If Jahn had been in charge, each would be in chains or dead.
Hours had passed and he was finally reunited with the one newcomer who wasn't an idiot. Sara knelt, showing him respect by looking deeply into his eyes. Jahn averted his own to spare her honor at having been the subject of a rescue.
"Thank you, Macaferty Jahn; you have done your family and mentors proud."
Jahn smiled thinly. "You were amongst them,"he said. "How could I not offer you what meager aide I could provide?"
She embraced him and pulled the now normal-sized tahvic to her chest. He returned the gesture as a token of affection that he'd learned these newcomers respected. The two stayed close as members of the king's legion strode about the battlefield either looting corpses or rounding up straggling brigands.
Aaron approached from afar.
"That was amazing,"he cried. "Did you see what my spell did for you?"
Jahn broke the embrace and looked up at the leonine wizard. What little respect Jahn had for him was waning.
"I did see it, yes,"Jahn replied. "How could I not?"
Aaron was practically beaming. His tufted auranathi tail swished behind him like that of an eager dog. "I may still be new at some of this magic stuff but I'm getting better all the time! Next battle, I'll see if I can extend the duration; make it last longer than just an hour!"
Jahn scowled. "I don't think that will be..."
"And the captain, Sir Haulivan? He just offered us a job under his command! He wants to present us at court as advisers to the Royal Legion! I was in his tent not ten minutes ago and he said he was impressed by my spell-casting. How incredible is that? We'll be living large from now on!"
The tahvic sighed. He pulled away from Sara, his fingers lingering in hers. She watched him with a hidden smile. Jahn walked up to Aaron, hands on his hips. Aaron, coming out of his excitement, finally looked down at the scowling tahvic. His enthusiasm was un-dimmed. "Uh, isn't that great?"
Jahn punched him in the groin.
Turning to the sound of Sara's laughter he strode back to her. "Large living is overrated,"he chuffed. "Now get your pack; there are proper adventures to be had."
Within the hour the three of them departed from the ruins of the brigands'castle. Accompanying them was an over-looked, shrunken terrmorah. Jahn felt that perhaps the formerly giant beast could be taught some proper respect and Aaron's spells worked both ways. In the meantime, though, Jahn didn't apologize for punching Aaron nor did Aaron request it.
It looked like the newcomer was learning.