Threadbare

They came at dawn, with the sun at their backs and as a horde.

The first sign that the assault was underway was the artillery. They had only taken peppering shots until then, sighting in the cannon they had brought and the ballista they had assembled from nearby forests.

Threadbare was frankly a bit amazed at the range they were getting out of the ballista bolts. They had to have some pretty skilled Archers on those. The cannon battered the fortifications, spraying stone chips and cracking pillars, while the bolts landed like lightning, sending the defenders scurrying for cover.

He looked over to Buttons.

She was wearing a human-sized body now, made of wood and tin. Two deaths in rapid succession in the line of duty had gotten her a sizeable draw from the RAGs restoration fund, and apparently she'd pulled some favors to get rapid retraining, to get most of her levels back. All in all, her death the first time around had only been a minor setback.

That said, she was in no hurry to die, here. She'd told him that there would be casualties, and there would be a strain on resources and available Golemists.

It was a saddening thought. And Threadbare had quietly put his bodyguard skill on her the second the artillery had started up.

Buttons glanced back at him, almost as if reading his mind, and gave him a smile, as the cannons thundered and the bolts fell. “So far so good!” She shouted. “Take a look out and tell me how close they are!”

Threadbare took his hat off, and stuck his head out to peer through the nearest gap in the pillars...

...and promptly caught a face full of stone chips and shrapnel.

A second later, after he had cleared the dust and shards from his button eyes and the sound of the cannon was booming across the valley, he peered down the slope.

“It's a little hard to tell with the sun where it's at, but I'd say they're about six hundred yards off. They're coming in very quickly, are we sure...”

“Back!” Buttons yelled, and he felt her catch ahold of him, as he realized that the noise in the background had shifted.

The water of the waterfall was no longer roaring down the cliffs.

The water, in fact, was ominously silent...

...until it came crashing down on the camp.

Tents were washed away, men and women and golems of indeterminate gender swore and held on for dear life. A few were washed screaming out of the now-flooded fortifications, to tumble down the cratered and bolt-ridden slope.

“The bastards actually did it! All right!” Shouted Buttons.

“This is good?” Threadbare tried to say, but he caught a mouthful of water and had to turn his head and clear his voicebox.

“Any moment now, any moment now...” Whispered Buttons as she held him close, and Threadbare managed to retrieve his hat before it was washed away, and jam it back on his head.

And then the water was gone,as with a SNAP, the wind went from gentle to hurricane force, and all the water that was spraying down on the camp scourged the slope like the piss of a hundred drunk giants.

Through the slit, he could see the charging front lines, the ones that had already reached the base of the hill, with their rabbity speed, bowled over. Their charge was broken by the waterfall that had been diverted by a raging windstorm, a solid plane of air that brought it down on their own army.

Behind Threadbare the drains gurgled, doing their jobs. And Mastoya's boosted voice echoed through the line, as she did her job.

“ARCHERS UP! ADJUST FOR WIND! GIVE THEM HELL!”

Hundreds of archers stepped out of cover, to rain down bolts, arrows, and a few rifleshots from the dwarven contingent as the Belltollians at the base of the hill dodged or died. They'd stopped their own artillery, tried to time it so the waterfall would destroy the fortifications and scramble the defenders just before their charge hit.

“Air beats water!” Buttons whooped, as she loaded and shot, loaded and shot. “Our Elementalists earned their pay today! Threadbare! Check the slope and see if anyone needs mending!”

Shaking his head, Threadbare leaned out again and squinted. That sun really was in exactly the wrong spot... which was why they had attacked now, come to think of it. But his perception was pretty decent as far as teddy bears went, and with no real risk of damage to his eyes, he could stare against it until the end of time if needed.

And sure enough, among the troops that had been washed out, there were a few small, struggling forms that were trying to get back to safety.

“Mend!” he called out to a camel toy whose back had been thoroughly broken.

Your Mend spell has healed Strawboss 61 HP!

Your Mend skill is now level 84!

“Mend!” he yelled at a catboy plush who was dragging himself, his lower body completely gone and his stuffing falling out.

Your Mend skill has healed Nyan-kun 62 HP!

“Mend!” he shouted at a string marionette who was desperately trying to untangle her strings from her broken leg.

Critical Success!

Your Mend skill has healed Barb Brahan94 HP!

Your Mend skill is now level 85!

Dimly, he became aware that Buttons was shouting at him, but it wasn't until she grabbed his leg and pulled, that he realized she was trying to get him to back up a bit. He hesitated a bit, peered through the chaos and the spray, searching for more targets to heal, before clouds of smoke in the distance caught his attention.

They're firing the cannon again, he thought, and let Buttons draw him back behind the barriers.

And just in time, too, as cannonballs started crashing into the hill below. Threadbare put his paws over his face, as he heard cries and screams, not only from the poor Cylvanians who were in the blast radius, but the Belltollians own troops.

“Wind's fucking their firing solutions!” Buttons said, sounding cheerful. “They'll have to recalibrate, if they don't want to turn their people into chow!”

But Threadbare thought of the three he'd healed, and wondered if they had made it back safely.

Buttons glanced back behind her. “They've got the semaphores back up, at least!” She shouted, to be heard over the din of the waterfall... a din that died down, as he saw it waver, then snap back into position falling over the cliff. Only then did he follow her gaze back up to the top of the hillside, where the watchtowers, which had held against the sudden spray, were lined with signalmen waving flags.

“We're to hold fire!” Buttons told him.

Threadbare had very little to fire to begin with. So he waited, fighting the urge to peek into the gap and look for survivors. The second the cannonfire faltered, he raced over and peered through. But the hillside was a wash of mud and blood and craters, and for the most part he couldn't separate fallen golems from the battered terrain.

There was some movement, and it cheered him to see it. But much of it came from fallen figures at the base of the hill, screaming. Shrill voices, female voices, for the most part. Belltollians. They had lost a few hundred, he judged. Farther back, he saw the bulk of their lines retreating back outside missile range.

“Gonna send out medics in a second, retrieve the wounded!” Buttons yelled. “Not you, you stay. We're trying something.”

“What? Why?” Threadbare asked, itching to get out there and get people to safety.

“Just in case they're evil assholes,” Buttons said. “Wait. You'll see.”

He hated to do it. But he watched the flags dip on the watchtowers, now white and emblazoned with red crosses. And from between the barriers, the medics, armored and tabarded, surged down the hillside.

“The brass negotiated casualty retrieval yesterday,” Buttons said. “And so long as they stick to it... ah, there! See yourself?”

“Excuse me?” Threadbare asked, and followed her pointing finger...

...to where a small brown teddy bear, wearing clothes that certainly looked very like his own, ran out and started poking around in the mud.

“Body doubles. Heard you used that trick before yourself,” The wooden soldier grinned.

“I have,” Threadbare watched his duplicate carefully. “Who volunteered for this?”

“No one. That's an animi,” Buttons said. “Every Animator in our ranks has one.”

Threadbare nodded. “Our side has put a lot of thought into this.”

“General Merser's work, mainly. He went to Sergeant Mastoya and the Princess and asked 'How do you want to do this,' and oh, the shit we're gonna pull. I don't even know most of it, just been briefed on what I need to know,” Buttons said, glancing over him. “Okay. They're signaling back. We've got twenty minutes to pull the wounded back. And... yeah, they're rotating the troops they sent to the rear, pulling fresh ones forward. We figured this would be a thing.”

“Is there anything I should know about that?” Threadbare asked.

“Eh... yeah, sit down, rest up,” she said, pulling out a pipe and tamping tobacco into it. “We've got at least twenty minutes. So... you know most of them are green, yeah?”

“Greener than the sergeant's... green parts,” Threadbare said, hastily amending what he was going to say.

“Right. So they'll gain levels faster than we will. And levels will recharge all their energy, save for hit points. And danger gets you levels, the lower you are, the faster the experience comes. So the survivors from that last charge will be a few levels richer.”

“That makes sense.”

“Whereas we were in slightly less danger. And most of our troops are higher level. We got less experience from that, and fewer of us leveled. So our energy won't recharge like theirs will. Especially since we were up against low-level troops.”

Threadbare was no strategist, but he had been around Garon long enough to follow logic. “They're going to keep throwing waves of troops against us, pull back the survivors, then once everyone's had a turn, start throwing the survivors back again.”

“Yep. After they've rested and recovered a bit. And also, they're better at that, too. Most of our elites and at least a third of our forces are golems or doll haunters. We can't eat, drink, or sleep. The bunnies can do all of the above, so they'll recover HP and energy faster that way, too.”

“They're trying to wear us down,” Threadbare said. “Will they?”

“The Sergeant thinks no. But they think yes, which is why they're attacking in the first place. Me, I don't know. That's above my paygrade. But I'll do my best to stop them.” Buttons lit her pipe and puffed. “Thing is, if they lose too many, there's no way in hell they're getting past the dwarves. And the more time we tie up their army here, the more time Brokeshale has to go to a defensive footing. And without a proper horde, the bunnies are fucked if they try for that.”

Threadbare nodded. Then he looked out, through the now-somewhat-wider gaps in the pillars. Wounded were being recovered, given minor healing spells to get them back on their feet, then being escorted back. Cylvanians and Belltollians alike were trudging back to the Cylvanian camp, the latter weaponless and with their arms up.

“We're taking prisoners. This is good,” Threadbare nodded.

“Yeah, well, they did it RIGHT,” said Buttons. “Yeah they tried to sneak in, but when we caught 'em they talked terms, set rules. We'll keep prisoners safe and so will they. This is good.”

Threadbare looked at the still corpses in the mud, and the streams of blood flowing around the base of the hill, and wondered how true that was. But he put it from his mind, for now. It was terrible, yes. But it could have been worse, was far worse back when the mad king had been running the civil war. There had been no rules then, and prisoners had only torment to look forward to.

This was better, even if it was still bad.

The minutes crawled by, and Threadbare watched the medics search through the mud. Then the semaphores changed, flags snapping in the wind, and the last few of them ran back. A few were slowed carrying others, pairs of small golems bearing larger forms on stretchers, and humans and dwarves and gribbits dragging moaning troops to safety.

And a moment later, the cannons started again.

No sooner did they sound, then the pillars around Threadbare shifted and cracked. He backed up. “Is this expected?”

“Sure is!” Buttons shouted, over the distant booming. “Elementalists are reinforcing the stone! Might need to back up a bit, though.”

They had done it up in pillars for a reason, Threadbare realized, as the cannon battered, and the fortifications shuddered. The layers had to be chipped away, and a breakage in front didn't necessarily mean that the next layer would go at the same time.

He had expected them to pull up more stone to repair the broken front pillars, or mend them to pull the blown away parts, but that wasn't what they were doing. Instead, they were leaving the front pillars damaged, and pulling up new pillars behind the existing ones.

“Figure they'll run out of cannonballs before we run out of stone,” Buttons said. “And in the meantime, any troops they send our way will have to run over the shrapnel and stone chunks that roll down the hill. And get over the mess in front.”

“Look out!” Threadbare yelled, and gave her a hard shove, before backing off himself.

A second later, a ballista bolt thudded down out of the sky, and cracked to bits roughly where they had been standing.

“Those. Those are still gonna be a problem,” Buttons said, glancing skyward. “Just gotta keep an eye up and not be where they are.”

Threadbare hopped up on her shoulder. “Keep an eye up, and I'll be ready to mend anyone I can who gets hit,” he suggested.

“If they need it. Remember the strategy.”

“I remember,” he said. But while he was not a soldier, he was smart enough to know that strategies weren't tactics, and sometimes you had to do things to deal with changing situations.

“RAMPARTS!” Mastoya shouted. “ARCHERS GET MOVING! FREE FIRE!”

Then the ground shuddered, as Threadbare saw Reason unfold herself from her position, and aim her cannon.

“Can you spare me for a moment?” he asked Buttons.

“All right, but I'm fucked if you die or get hurt!”

“I won't,” he promised and scurried over to Reason, climbing her leg with ease.

She didn't even notice, as she loomed over the fortifications and fired.

Looking down on it, he saw that the valley was filled with mist. He could see movement in it, could make out the occasional form of a rabbitfolk as it swirled and eddied, but there was no chance at seeing detail, or getting any kind of accurate count.

But it didn't matter, as shrieks rose to the sky, and blood fountained.

Reason was firing cannister shot down the hillside, and she wasn't the only one who was dumping ammunition indiscriminately. The fortifications were lined with Archers, Gunners, and more, and there were enough troops incoming that they were bound to hit SOMETHING.

It was very impersonal, and Threadbare looked away. Then Reason rocked, and a half-second later a cannon roared. Threadbare hung on tight as she stumbled from the impact, then tested her shoulder. There was a good-sized hole in there.

“Ow,” she said, her voice echoing. “Sergeant! Shifting position!”

“PERMISSION GRANTED!” Mastoya bellowed. “FALL BACK IF YOU ARE PRESSED TOO HARD!”

“Not a fucking rem-ef, I know that,” Reason muttered, then moved to the side.

“Do you need a heal?” Threadbare asked.

“Not yet. Look to the others. Oh, and hi dad!”

“Hello. Goodbye,” Threadbare said, and slid back down. The mist didn't rise to the level of the hill, and the Belltollians actually had pretty good aim, so he didn't want to tempt fate.

Reason could take cannonballs. He wasn't sure he could, not a direct hit.

A glance around showed a few bolts had hit home while he was looking away. Screaming humans were being tended to by Clerics, and the golem and doll haunter casualties were being moved to the side of the hill, out of the shelled area, for future treatment.

“Get me to the golem... area, please,” he told Buttons as he ran back to her, and leaped to her shoulder.

“Whup!” she said, stumbling back and catching herself. “On it, sir!” she ran for all she was worth, wooden boots clacking.

“Threadbare!” said a marionette with tangled strings as they burst into one of the red cross emblazoned tents.

“Hello! Also... Eye for Detail.”

Your Eye for Detail skill is now level 22!

Your Eye for Detail skill is now level 24!

Your Eye for Detail skill is now level 25!

Your Eye for Detail skill is now level 26!

In an instant every toy and made form in there gained a name and numbers above their head. A few were grayed out, and he shook his head in sorrow. Hopefully their soulstones had survived. But for the rest...

“Mend. Mend. Mend, Mend...” he couldn't afford the sanity to get them all. It would have put a serious dent in his future plans, and this was just the start of things. But he did put some good healing into the ones who were worst hit.

“Desu desu desu,” whispered a catboy as he left.

“You survived!” Threadbare stopped, and patted his hand. “Nyan-kun, right?”

“You know my name? Wa-whoa!' the golem gasped.

“Yes. Please be more careful. Maybe play some grindluck while you're here?”

The boy sighed heavily. “I hate that game.”

“Yeah and that's why you keep getting messed up!” howled a monkey doll. “Get over here and deal, boy!”

“Fine...” the catboy held himself together as he moved over to the nearby tables, where several of the wounded were breaking out cards. They would literally sit there and gamble until one of the healers fixed them more thoroughly, trying to improve their luck over time.

“We should probably get back, sir,” Buttons said.

“Yes, I will, just— ”

And then a voice boomed out of the sky. “COMMAND GOLEM! THREADBARE, FIGHT YOUR WAY TO OUR LINES AND SURRENDER!”

It was a powerful command. And for a second, Threadbare wanted to do just that.

But only a second. When he moved his muscles to obey, a message popped up in front of him.

PROGRAMMING CONFLICT: You cannot obey orders from strangers.

Command canceled!

Threadbare nodded. Then he turned, feeling eyes on him, and saw everyone in the tent staring at him in horror.

“I don't think I'll be doing that today,” he said, calmly.

CHA+1

The tent erupted in cheering. Golems hugged each other, a few put away their weapons, and a very few came out from under their sickbeds and jumped up and down in excitement. The visible humans sagged with relief, and Chase came out from the other end, laughing and crying at the same time. “It worked! It worked! Oh you glorious bear!”

Threadbare opened his mouth to reply, and paused.

Congratulations! For inspiring your subjects and boosting morale on the battlefield, you have unlocked the Royal Champion job!

You cannot gain an additional job at this time.

Seek out your guild to unlearn an existing job.

“Thank you,” Threadbare told them all. “Let's win this so we can go home. Heal and be well,” he told them.

Outside the tent, Buttons shot him a glance. “So you shrugged that off?”

“No, they would have got me,” he told her. “I wasn't actively resisting that sort of thing, and they got through my magic resistance. But we thought they might try something like this, so we took measures against it.

“Measures? How good are they?”

“COMMAND GOLEM! REASON, FIGHT YOUR WAY TO OUR LINES AND SURRENDER!”

There was a moment of silence.

“Not a chance, you wild hares!” yelled Reason.

And the front lines roared with joy.

The opposing forces roared with cannon, and the front lines stopped cheering. But Threadbare was pretty sure it had worked.

“They have to call us out by name,” Threadbare said, as they got back to the chewed up staging ground, keeping an eye out for ballista bolts. “Otherwise we can't tell who they're talking to. Not at this distance.”

“So there's no mass command golem or anything like that?” Buttons asked, shooting him a glance.

“Not yet,” Threadbare said. “That might be a skill for somebody at level thirty or thirty five, but I don't think their Golemists have gotten there yet.”

“For our sake I hope that's so,” Buttons said, glancing around. “Though we've got countermagic if it comes down to it. I hope. I think. I don't know how that works.”

“I do, and I think we'll do fine,” Threadbare said, glancing back to the dwarves. A full fourth of them wore holy symbols.

“REPEL! GODDAMN IT REPEL!” shouted Mastoya, and Threadbare turned back around in time to see that there were quite a lot of figures leaping over the fortifications.

Enough of the Belltollian lines had made it up the hill that things got complicated.

“Shit!” Buttons shouldered her musket, shouted “Rapid Fire!” and shot two bunnyfolk off the ramparts. Then she fell back, reloading.

“Oh dear. Mend. Mend. Mend!” Threadbare added, tossing healing toward the ones he could see who looked like they needed it the most.

It was a knock-down, drag-out fight. The scree and rubble of the broken pillars didn't seem to hinder the Belltollians as much as Cylvania's commanders had hoped... the nimble rabbitfolk could easily get over it. But they were still attacking up a hill, and Cylvania's better trained troops had the edge.

Buttons stayed back from the fight, and Threadbare stayed back with her, sticking doggedly to his healing duties. A large part of the challenge was visibility... when you had hundreds of people fighting all at once in a small area, it got very confusing.

Fortunately, two of his priorities were easy to see. And when Reason or Emmet hove into sight, he tossed a “Mend Golem,” there way without regrets.

But as things wore on, as the seemingly-unending wave of rabbits pushed up the hill, he felt his sanity going. The healing was taking its toll from his mind, and he lost focus several times, staring at the pools of blood that were gathering and gurgling around the drains. Catching the dead eyes of the corpse of a Belltollian woman, her purple uniform darkened and her throat a ruin where a blade had caught it. Staring sadly at a toy gorilla, headless, lying on its side and clutching the shards of a shattered soulstone.

Though he got very low very quickly, he sent his healing throughout the field, doing what he could to save the lives he could. Knowing that he wasn't far from breaking...

And then he felt refreshed, as every bit of his focus snapped back into place, heralded by words he hadn't seen in a while.

You are now a level 32 Golemist!

INT+5

WILL+5

He shook his head, clearing it of the last of the horror that had been building, and looked at the battle with new eyes.

The wave of rabbitfolk had slowed, was depleting. There weren't many new ones scrambling over the ramparts, and a few that had survived the initial clash were scrambling back the other way. They were breaking, he saw, and the Cylvanian lines were holding firm. There were still bodies on the ground wearing Cylvanian green, but far fewer than the Belltollian purple-cad corpses.

And in a minute it was over, the invaders were pushed back, and Buttons rushed toward the ramparts, clambering up to get shots at the retreating force.

The mist was gone, Threadbare saw, the last wisps of it melting under the sun. Distantly he wondered why the Air Elementalists on their side hadn't blown it away, but perhaps they had been saving energy.

He wasn't sure it had been a good call. The hillside was lined with bodies.

“Looks like about five or six of their dead to each of ours,” Buttons said, sounding satisfied. “Not bad.” She shouldered her musket and took aim, trying to up the ratio a bit.

No, it was bad. But there were no good outcomes here, he thought. Just survivable ones.

Distant booms let him know that the Belltollians were starting up their cannon line again, covering their retreating lines.

And then he tugged on Button's ear, and pointed upwards at an angle. “Look.”

“So that's where the dragonriders got to!” Buttons said, as a squadron of batwinged forms came out from the canopy of the northeastern forest, and beelined toward the Belltollian artillery groups. “Brilliant!”

Perhaps that was why the Cylvanian Elementalists had left the mist, to give the air cavalry time to sneak up? Threadbare didn't know. But he didn't speculate long, for he recognized the dragon in the lead.

“There's Madeline!” he said, as she led the swamp drake riders, diving and roaring fire down onto the cannon and ballistae around the far hills. “Oh I do hope she'll be all right!”

“Why wouldn't she?” Buttons asked. “She's a badass.”

“Yes, but—”

And an amplified voice roared out of the sky. “COMMAND GOLEM! MADELINE, LAND AND ALLOW YOURSELF TO BE RESTRAINED!”

“—they know her,” Threadbare finished, quietly. “And I haven't seen her since I got here, so I couldn't protect her from that.”

Madeline did not land.

Madeline kept on breathing fire.

And Threadbare dared to hope.

But the voice shouted again, two, three more times.

And with a sickening inevitability, he saw her dive down, saw the groups of waiting troops with nets, chains, and ropes swarm her. Saw the other dragonriders try to flame them, only to be driven back by volleys of arrows and the crackle of gunfire.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

“Gods dammit,” Buttons swore, pointing. “It's worse than that. Look.”

Captured, he knew. They had captured her for a reason. She'd be alive for now. And Threadbare used that thought to tear his eyes off the horror of a friend being suborned and taken prisoner, and followed Buttons' pointing finger.

And now that the sun was up from the horizon, he saw long rafts coming down the river. Rafts filled with purple-clad rabbitfolk. Lines and lines of them.

“This was only the vanguard,” Buttons said, horrified. “Fuck me, this wasn't the battle. This was just the warmup.”