Survivor: Definitely Not Minecraft

I set up a worktable at a safe distance from the rest of the supply train just after sunrise. Astaroth was taking the night’s spawns up front to join the main force, while my family was still sleeping in our shelter. Fladnag, who only slept in short spurts, had come out with me to observe.

Charcoal, saltpeter, and sulfur combined to make gunpowder. The result was anti-climatic, a coin with a gritty texture. Looking Fladnag in the eyes, I activated my System screens to check my notifications and see how he would react.

[Gunpowder]

A delight for all ages. Not a spice. Great for parties, funerals, and weddings.

Warning: Powder is volatile. Handle with care.

Fladnag appeared completely uninterested in the floating blue screen from which I was reading, which would have been very suspicious if I wasn’t already sure this guy was a hero. He’d given me guidelines to figure out the relative amounts of the ingredients I should use based on how he would have mixed them himself.

With the sulfur Furtur had provided and the ingredients Fladnag carried in his wagon, I could produce enough Gunpowder to demolish a castle.

“Monsters and structures,” he said. “As we agreed.”

“I know, you don’t want me to bomb people. I’ll keep my word.”

I’d wracked my brain trying to remember what the recipe for TNT was in Minecraft, and I was pretty sure it was just gunpowder and sand, which sounded ridiculous, but I went with it.

[TNT]

Not a toy. You've just assembled a block of sheer destructive power, ready to reshape landscapes or make a grand entrance (or exit) wherever you dang well please. Whether it's for mining those hard-to-reach ores, setting a trap for unwelcome mobs, or just enjoying the art of Feng Shui, TNT is here to help. Just, you know, don't use it near anything you're fond of. Like your house. Or people.

The TNT looked like what it was, a solid block of red cylinders, dynamite, complete with a woven fuse at the top and a skull and crossbones image painted onto its side. For a demolition project, it was perfect, but it didn’t seem like an efficient device to use in combat. I sorted through my supplies and tried a few different combinations with bottles, powder, and other materials to see if the System would give me a grenade, but it was a no-go. Fireworks, however, were just paper and black powder.

They were about the size of a torch; compact, and easily held in one hand. The casing was reddish brown and felt like cardboard. It came with a conical cap, and a fuse hanging from the bottom.

Fladnag scoffed at the sight. “Hardly a superior specimen,” he said. I took the firework away from the worktable and used my flint to spark the fuse.

It wasn’t a genius move, but as usual, I was in my full regalia, and it would have taken a much bigger explosive than this one to worry me. The fuse burned through in a few seconds, and sparks erupted from the bottom of the device. I could feel the tug of the propellant force, and I let it go so that it shot straight up into the sky. With the sun having risen, there were no phantoms to hunt, and the harpies were resting for the morning.

The explosion wasn’t particularly pretty. Yellow sparks, and a ball of flame. It was more like a weak rocket than one of Fladnag’s entertaining illuminators.

“Are you satisfied?” The old man asked. His face was grim, as if he was already imagining the ways I would misuse his secret formula.

“For now,” I said. The camp was already preparing to move, and the followers who had been busying themselves with morning chores had paused to look up at the display. I checked in with Gaap to make sure of our course for the day and had breakfast with Esmelda and Leto. Then the journey resumed.

On our march, we passed by more farming towns flourishing in the gaps of the storm. Close to Gundurgon, they still looked to be in good shape, but as we proceeded, the signs of the raids became clear. Burned buildings, stripped fields, and crows. We were following the road, which helped us keep a reasonable pace, but stretched out our supply train to an extent that it created an obvious vulnerability.

Before the end of our second day out of the city, Celaeno brought a warning. I was riding with Esmelda and Leto, who were, as I insisted, wearing their armor. Fladnag was driving his wagon, and he looked up as the massive black bird alighted atop its covered roof.

“That isn’t a perch,” he grumbled, and the harpy cawed in response, remaining where she was.

“My sisters have seen outriders,” she said.

“How far?” I asked.

“They came within a few miles, aware of us.” She raised one wing and preened herself. “Shall we hunt?”

“No. The riders are all bowmen. I don’t want you endangering yourselves. Did you see an army?”

Her violet eyes flickered. “Farther north. Moving east.”

“What’s the size of the force?”

“My sisters did not fly close enough to say. But they are hundreds, not thousands.”

“Thank you. Keep me updated if they come any closer.”

Celaeno spread her wings and rose into the air while Fladnag grumbled about the rudeness of birds. Esmelda’s grip tightened on the reins in her hands.

“What are you going to do?” She asked.

“We keep going,” I said. “We can’t chase them, but I assume they’ll come to us before long.”

“You aren’t planning on flying there yourself, are you?” She looked worried.

“No. I don’t want to take on an army by myself if I can avoid it.”

Esmelda visibly relaxed, but Leto perked up at the comment. “You could though, right?”

“Probably, but the shamans are still an unknown. They might not be able to hurt me, but if they have spells that work against monsters, they could kill Noivern, and I would be stuck on the ground.” My previous experience fighting on the battlefield outside Mount Doom had not been pleasant, and I was not eager to relive that kind of slaughter.

Gastard had been keeping an eye on the supply train further back. His horse's hooves signaled his approach as he galloped up shortly after Celaeno took off.

“What news?” He asked, pulling back to a trot as he came beside me.

“The harpies have spotted one of the orkhan groups,” I said.

He nodded. Gastard wasn’t wearing his helmet, so I could see the determination on his face. The rest of his armor shimmered even in the dim light that penetrated the clouds. “I’ll get the wagons into formation. Have you informed the demons?”

“I will.” Gastard rode off, all business, and I sent word up to the monster regiment that we needed to be prepared for an attack. As most of the wagons were being pulled by a mix of trolls, varghests, and zombies, the supply train wasn’t exactly defenseless. But we needed a demon with us to direct them if they were going to be of any use in a battle. Regardless, the Orkhan strategy was to not close for a melee unless they had worn the enemy down with arrows first.

The column slowed to a crawl as the supply line became a circle with Fladnag’s wagon at the center. In the case of an attack, Leto and Esmelda would be sheltering with him, and the Orkhans would have to cut through the rest of the group before they got anywhere close to my family.

Though we weren’t under immediate threat, the change in formation made everyone tense, from the soldiers and laborers to Esmelda. Only Leto seemed unaware of the change in atmosphere.

“Will you use the illuminators?” He asked. “I could light one.”

“No,” I said, as his mother shot me a look, “the rockets aren’t for fighting, and you won’t be involved anyway. You’ll be in the wagon.” Fladnag had reluctantly allowed me to add a layer of planks to his roof so stray arrows wouldn’t punch through. With a battle on the horizon, I would have preferred having them back at Mount Doom, but they were potentially in danger anywhere, from demons if not from the Atlanians. At least here, they were close enough for me to do something about it if they were in trouble.

“Which demon will be with us?” Esmelda asked.

“I was thinking Malphas. He can deflect missiles, and if it comes down to it, fly you all away from here.”

She shook her head. “I don’t like the way he looks at us. He brought an army to our doorstep, and oathbound or not, I don’t trust him. I would rather you gave us Astaroth.”

I was surprised to hear she had a preference. I’d gotten the impression that she thought of demons as all being equally bad.

“Fire isn’t a very good element for defense,” I said.

“I don’t think arrows are going to be our biggest worry. If the riders get this far, then he can meet them with his flame. Besides,” she paused, searching for words, “there is something about him that I find…less objectionable than the others.”

He was certainly the most polite and subservient of the demons that were sworn to me. “I’ll give him the assignment then,” I said. “I’m just glad you’re willing to keep one around while I’m in the front lines.”

Esmelda looked away. “Practicality has to come before my personal feelings.”

As orders went back and forth, the monster regiment drew closer to the supply group. Astaroth joined us to walk meekly behind Fladnag’s wagon, his head bowed and his hands clasped like an itinerant monk. It wasn’t usually clear which demons were in control of which monsters, as they could command them mentally as well as verbally. But when Astaroth was with us, the zombies quieted, and the varghests looked almost friendly. Not that any of the soldiers would have tried petting their shaggy heads.

I fell back to speak with the demon. “How fine is the control you have over the lesser entities?” I asked. “I know you can give them general orders to not attack humans, pull the wagons, and so whatever. But what do they really understand?”

Astaroth clucked, his bright orange eyes flickering up at me before returning to the ground ahead of his feet. “Every entity is different. The koroshai hardly have thoughts of their own, unless they consume enough man flesh to take on a new face. They are as much plant as animal, and will follow any command I give them to the limit of their understanding, which is not great.”

“Can they recognize friends from enemies? When we use them to fight, will we risk having them attack our people?”

“When I speak to them, it is not with words. Your people have a certain scent, though scent is not quite the right word. I have commanded them to ignore anyone who smells as if they belong to you. If one of your men were to attack the koroshai, they would not defend themselves, reacting instead as if they had stumbled across a sharp stone.”

“If scent isn’t the right word, what is? How do they tell people apart?”

“Most koroshai are blind, or nearly so. Their natural senses are dull, but they are spiritually aware. Human essence, demonic essence, they can differentiate between as easily as you would ice and flame. Bonds of loyalty and devotion make a subtle change in the scent of a soul. To them, there is nothing more obvious.”

That was kind of incredible. I’d always assumed the zombies were zombies, with nothing deeper going on. “Are you telling me that a shambler could tell me if someone was loyal to me or not by their scent? Can all the monsters do that?”

“Most can. Have you ever wondered why the entities always draw closer to you, even when you are concealed?”

Presence. Monsters had a sense for it, and I had one too.

“What about you?” I said. “ And the other demons? How sensitive are you? Can you tell me if Furtur is planning to betray his oath?”

Astaroth let out a low, musical trill. “Yes and no. We have a sharper understanding of essence than the lesser entities do. But demons can disguise their hearts. We are capable of deceit even in the shape of our souls.”

“Is it difficult for you to command them individually, rather than in groups? Like, can you tell one group to attack, but a few to hold back, and a few to head in a different direction, all at the same time?”

Astaraoth regarded me shrewdly, as if decidedly how much he should share. “It requires great focus to keep active control. Generally, we give broad instructions to the lesser entities under our command, and let them seek those ends in their way.”

“But you can if you need to?” I didn’t have a specific plan for how to use this information, but it certainly seemed like the sort of thing that was good to know.

“Yes.”

“Can you see through their eyes? Feel what they feel, that sort of thing?”

“Some demons can, and then, only with the entities they have developed a bond with. It would require much time and effort for me to do so. My connection to these entities is not strong enough yet.”

“Wow,” I said. “I appreciate your openness.”

Astaroth shrugged. “I have sworn to you. I am yours to command.”

“I’m trusting you with my family’s safety,” I said. “When the fighting starts, keeping them from harm is your only priority. Not me. Not the enemy.”

“I understand,” Astaroth said, “and I am honored by your trust.”

If I didn’t look at him, it was almost possible to forget that I was talking to a demon. There was a limit to my trust, but if I couldn’t count on Astaroth to follow my orders in this, I couldn’t count on him for anything. There would always be a calculus to be done regarding whether or not a demon would be motivated to betray me. The oaths made that betrayal inconvenient, rather than impossible, and I couldn’t afford to forget it. But as long as they believed our interests were aligned, I could be relatively sure they would do as I said. Even if they had been human, it wasn’t as if I could ever be completely sure they wouldn’t betray me. Not everyone was as loyal as Gastard. Almost no one was.

By nightfall, we had neither been attacked nor reached the edge of Grimwald, but the storm was visibly thinner here than it had been around Gundurgon. As we camped, I gave an order for a trench to be dug around the supply group. The soldiers helped, as did the trolls, but with an orichalcum shovel, I could move dirt faster than an army and ended up doing most of the work myself. A midnight cavalry charge was unlikely, but it made me feel better to be doing something, and I was collecting the dirt as I went. You never knew when you might need to throw up a bulwark on short notice.

It was toward the middle of the following day when Celaeno dropped in again, digging her talons into the roof of Fladnag’s wagon, ignoring his complaints.

“What’s up,” I said. “More outriders?”

“No,” the harpy said. “They are coming.”