equivalent of running twenty leagues in the time it took to walk a dozen paces, and his flesh and soul needed time to recover. He couldn't afford to be here when that happened, or the next wave of golems might catch him sleeping. He had to leave, and soon.
Dismounting quickly, Sam gathered together as many parts of the dead golems as he could, hoping to have something to study later. Something to bring to the more learned masters of the arcane arts. But what remained was almost unrecognisable. The rat bodies were twisted. Many had torn and melted from the heat of the fire and the force of the explosions. In the end he gathered half a dozen of the best heads, tossed them in the already over full saddle bags and made off after the last elven party.
Finding his way after them wasn't an easy job either he discovered, as his horse had to pick her way gingerly through more than half a league of blackened, wind strewn branches which were so thick that they actually obscured the length of the trail. Despite her sure footedness, Sam found he had to lead his mare through the worst of it on foot, clearing the path ahead with what little remained of his magic, and his boots as they went. Later, when he was through the worst of it, he found that smaller pieces of the trees were dotted along the trail all the way back to his home.
It was a difficult trip back, but it was still a good journey, knowing that at least one enemy had been vanquished, and that the power he had searched for, for so many years was finally with him. It was a vital journey too when exhaustion was galloping up on him. He had given too much into that final spell, and he was drained. It was still only late in the morning, and the sun was high, yet already he was dreaming of a nice soft bed. It was difficult to stay alert. He needed to get to the safety of the elves.
As he rode, he tried to stay awake by concentrating on what he'd learned of the enemy. Not only from facing them in combat, but also from finally seeing the golems with his own eyes. And he realised that he had learned something. Something important. More than just their strengths and weaknesses, or even their strange method of communication with their master. He'd looked into their glowing red eyes at some point and seen what surely anyone should have known, but apparently no one else was prepared to admit. These things weren't actually golems. They were machina.
True golems had nothing of life or machinery in them. They were inanimate lumps of whatever material they were created out of, until they had a spark of magic and a dose of alchemy breathed into them. But these were machina. Machines created with moving parts and a shadow of life. Even without having magic imbued in them they still were nothing like golems. They remained inanimate but were able to be moved into positions as a child could move the limbs of a doll. And once someone had breathed their magical shadow life into them, they became much more than any mere golem.
They had far greater mobility for a start, as the elves had already found to their cost. Where a golem would usually plod along as though every movement was a major exertion, these things could run, jump and climb as well as any living animal. More troubling then that though was that they had far greater autonomy. A golem practically had to be ordered to carry out every little movement. They were too stupid to be able to follow complicated commands. But these things could be given an order and then be left to carry it out. They could even ask questions. Unlike golems they had a simple intelligence. They were machina.
The only problem he had with the understanding of their nature was that there were no machina left. The last of them had been created and destroyed in the terrible Dragon Wars, more than five thousand years ago. A time when the forces of a warlord known only as the Dragon, had created an army of machina, tens or even hundreds of
Dismounting quickly, Sam gathered together as many parts of the dead golems as he could, hoping to have something to study later. Something to bring to the more learned masters of the arcane arts. But what remained was almost unrecognisable. The rat bodies were twisted. Many had torn and melted from the heat of the fire and the force of the explosions. In the end he gathered half a dozen of the best heads, tossed them in the already over full saddle bags and made off after the last elven party.
Finding his way after them wasn't an easy job either he discovered, as his horse had to pick her way gingerly through more than half a league of blackened, wind strewn branches which were so thick that they actually obscured the length of the trail. Despite her sure footedness, Sam found he had to lead his mare through the worst of it on foot, clearing the path ahead with what little remained of his magic, and his boots as they went. Later, when he was through the worst of it, he found that smaller pieces of the trees were dotted along the trail all the way back to his home.
It was a difficult trip back, but it was still a good journey, knowing that at least one enemy had been vanquished, and that the power he had searched for, for so many years was finally with him. It was a vital journey too when exhaustion was galloping up on him. He had given too much into that final spell, and he was drained. It was still only late in the morning, and the sun was high, yet already he was dreaming of a nice soft bed. It was difficult to stay alert. He needed to get to the safety of the elves.
As he rode, he tried to stay awake by concentrating on what he'd learned of the enemy. Not only from facing them in combat, but also from finally seeing the golems with his own eyes. And he realised that he had learned something. Something important. More than just their strengths and weaknesses, or even their strange method of communication with their master. He'd looked into their glowing red eyes at some point and seen what surely anyone should have known, but apparently no one else was prepared to admit. These things weren't actually golems. They were machina.
True golems had nothing of life or machinery in them. They were inanimate lumps of whatever material they were created out of, until they had a spark of magic and a dose of alchemy breathed into them. But these were machina. Machines created with moving parts and a shadow of life. Even without having magic imbued in them they still were nothing like golems. They remained inanimate but were able to be moved into positions as a child could move the limbs of a doll. And once someone had breathed their magical shadow life into them, they became much more than any mere golem.
They had far greater mobility for a start, as the elves had already found to their cost. Where a golem would usually plod along as though every movement was a major exertion, these things could run, jump and climb as well as any living animal. More troubling then that though was that they had far greater autonomy. A golem practically had to be ordered to carry out every little movement. They were too stupid to be able to follow complicated commands. But these things could be given an order and then be left to carry it out. They could even ask questions. Unlike golems they had a simple intelligence. They were machina.
The only problem he had with the understanding of their nature was that there were no machina left. The last of them had been created and destroyed in the terrible Dragon Wars, more than five thousand years ago. A time when the forces of a warlord known only as the Dragon, had created an army of machina, tens or even hundreds of
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