Paperless Typewriters and Other Mysteries of the Ancients

It turned out that they had been looking in the wrong place. Marci had, incorrectly, assumed that Headthonlock, which her growing ability with the Ancient's language told her actually translated to 'Loch Head,' implying that perhaps there had once been a lake there, had been built in the valley. However, that was apparently not how the Ancients had done things. After almost two fruitless weeks of wrecking the natural beauty of the long glacial valley with manic excavations, a team of kobolds, during their 'flexi-time' that she was struggling to get them to use to not work, had hauled one of the sonic scanners up the side of a mountain and discovered ruins inside a huge outcropping (the 'Head,' perhaps?) almost immediately.

Why it had been built like that, Marci had no idea. The Archfey Pawla had mentioned that it had produced weapons, so perhaps it had been some kind of defensive measure. Regardless, she was rather annoyed that she had wasted so much precious time. She didn't know how much longer she had before her four demon 'allies' launched their attack on the South, but she doubted it was long. Every day was important.

Once they knew where to dig, the kobolds quickly tunnelled down to where there was some kind of hard, reinforced and clearly artificial stone that surrounded the subterranean fortress. She considered having them just dig straight through, but upon consideration decided against it. This was a tomb, and as an adventurer she knew that all tombs had traps and monsters protecting whatever treasure lay within, and she wasn't prepared to put the kobolds in harms way if they accidentally breached into a room with a slumbering lich or a dozing dragon or something.

Instead, she located what seemed to be the main entrance buried only a few dozen meters within the rock and then did the same thing she had spent years of her life as an adventurer doing: dungeon delving.

Well, actually, she wasn't sure if it counted as dungeon delving if you had an army of demons and squadrons of undead with you. Perhaps 'dungeon invasion' was a better term?

"Remember!" bellowed Rafferty as the team of kobolds who had stuck spikes into the huge artificial stone doorways began to heave them open, inch by inch. "The Dread Lady frowns upon inefficiency! You are all responsible for the safety of your squad-mates, and especially your assigned buddy! I want no avoidable deaths!"

Marci ordered her undead troops forward with a mental command. They had gotten considerably slicker over time, and now moved almost as smoothly as Saoirse's as they marched in lockstep, spears levelled at the opening door.

Stone ground against stone, and Marci summoned a warelight, tossing it forward into the gloom to reveal a rather strange dungeon. Marci had seen many long-forgotten crypts, cursed ruins, and treacherous tombs in her career as an adventurer. Most were dusty and decrepit, with mouldering stone and shattered vases and, in some of the newer ones, splintered rotten furniture.

Headthonlock had none of that. It was pristine, with only a very thin layer of dust upon otherwise shiny white floors made of some material Marci had never seen before. The walls were painted a kind of rather unappealing beige, with strange black rectangles attached to them—the arcane purpose of which was lost on Marci. There was a long desk with several rather comfortable looking chairs behind it, with strange cream-coloured boxes set with more of the arcane black squares, as well as what looked like those new-fangled 'typewriters' that had been taking off at the university while she'd been studying there. She'd never managed to get the hang of them—although instead of large, boxy things with rolls of paper, the ones in this ruin were flat and lacked anywhere for a blank sheaf to go.

These ancients were truly mysterious.

As soon as her own skeletons stepped forward into the foyer-like space, however, the skeletons who had been presumably resting where they'd died stirred, baleful yellow orbs of light flickering in their sockets as they turned to stare at Marci and her assembled forces. That was, however, fairly old hat for Marci. Rising was just what skeletons did if they weren't placed in properly sanctified coffins or ground and left to absorb ley energy for a long enough period of time. It wasn't really an issue: even with access to weapons they weren't really a problem for a prepared group-

There was a loud bang! And a flash of light, and Marci along with many demons yelped in alarm as the skeletons raised a collection of what looked like sleek and very compact pistols and muskets and began to spew bolts of green energy at her undead, punching straight through their shields and the front of their armour, making the front-line collapse instantly.

"Shields!" shouted Rafferty, as Marci conjured a barrier over her troops as the half a dozen skeletons from around the room continued to shoot with their ridiculous magitek weaponry, shattering most of the wizards shields and all of the non-wizard's barriers and sending beams of light smashing into the ranks of her undead and arcing overhead. Of all the shields, only Marci's and one of the arachnoid wizard's shields actually held, and both of their barriers cracked and splintered as they raced to repair them.

"Take cover!" roared Rafferty as behind them the kobolds skedaddled at Marci's mental command as she ducked down beside the doors. "Spellcasters, muskets—take them out!"

"Try not to damage the weapons!" said Marci, both appalled and awed by the destructive power of the small devices that the undead were blasting great chunks out of the door and wall with.

Although the skeleton's weaponry was fearsome, they were uninterested in hunkering down behind cover, and were dropped with a combination of inferior firearms and magic, and eventually the room fell silent.

Several demons had been injured, one killed when most of the shields had failed, and the squadron of undead she had had up the front had been entirely destroyed—cut down as they'd tried to cross the distance and now lay scattered across the foyer.

Marci cursed softly as she landed next to the small imp who had taken a blast to the chest and was now staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. She'd been overconfident, or perhaps, she hadn't expected weapons on that level of destructive power which could be wielded by simple risen, mindless 'natural' undead. Which had been stupid, she was here to find super-weapons to use against the Far Ones and maybe the other Shardkeepers.

When she'd first lost many of her demon soldiers, in the clash with the party of adventurers, she'd regarded it as unpleasant but, if she was honest with herself, she still hadn't really seen them as whole people. She did now. This imp's death was a tragedy, one she should have prevented. Yes, he'd been a soldier, but he had been her soldier, and she should have done better by him.

She closed her eyes and forced back her tears, not allowing herself to show weakness in front of her troops. She was glad that she hadn't let Saoirse come along, or Olaf or Tissa or Jolanda or even Anke. She'd justified it to them with 'I can't sense your mind and coordinate telepathically with you,' but the real reason was that they were precious to her, and ever since Olaf had nearly drowned she was loathe to put any of them in harms way if she didn't need to. Did that make her a bad person? To prioritise their safety over this imp's? It probably did.

"What was his name?" she asked in a flat voice.

"Err, Sean, m'lady," said a nearby incubus. "Sean O'leary. He was, uh, my buddy. I'm- I'm sorry, I know we're supposed to watch out for each other, the, um, efficiency thing… but I didn't even see it coming."

Sean O'leary. She'd remember that, and try to make sure that the number of names added to that list were kept as short as possible.

"Rafferty, secure this room, full warding, and place it under guard," said Marci, accepting one of the pistols out of the hand of an arachnoid and scowling at it. "We're not going to go any further until I can devise some kind of defence against these weapons. Have the wizards join me back at the Dreadfort when they're done warding this place."

"As you say, m'lady," he said, saluting.

"And see that this man's body is returned to his family," said Marci, before holding up a hand. "And no, I don't care if 'it's weird.' Just do it, please."

Rafferty saluted a second time, although she felt indulgent amusement chime in his mind. "Yes, m'lady, of course."

Marci flew back down the tunnel and out into the open air of the valley, flying high over where the kobolds were somewhat unhappily packing up the scanners that were no longer necessary, clearly a bit put out to no longer have so much 'fun' work to do. She had to clean her face of tears with Fernando's Concealer of Sorrow before she reached the Dreadfort, where several demons were on watch, and made straight for her lab.

She was just consulting with a kobold to make a few stands for the weapon, and trying not to focus on how rotten she felt when an incredibly alarmed scout clamoured for her attention in her mind.

'M'lady!? M'lady!?' they mentally screamed. 'Fairies! There's a whole Legion of Fairies!'

Marci jerked and for a moment was filled with panic as she gazed through the eyes of the incubus who was cowering behind a rock and staring up at glittering rank after rank of armoured, formation flying soldiers. Then, however, she relaxed, remembering that her mother had mentioned she was sending her a battalion, and they were flying the blue and gold of House du Valmont.

'It's alright,' replied Marci telepathically. 'They're mine.'

Then she frowned. That was a worrying sentence to have mentally uttered; she sounded like her mother. She needed to stop that. Immediately.

A.N. Back on the Marci train now, after a brief detour through a short Warcraft fanfic I wrote about a time-travelling teenage dragon trying to save the universe (A Stitch In Time). I have some other stories, which can be read here or on my Patreon.