Dragon Mage 075 - What the Missive Brings (Patreon)

376 days until the Arkon Shield falls

In stark contrast to last night, the day passed without incident. The scouts were on high alert, but no hostiles approached near enough to trouble the expedition. Given the seeming innocuity of the forest, it was almost as if we were back on Earth. But no one was deceived, and everyone remained vigilant for orcs and predators, both.

The relative quiet did give me the opportunity to reflect on yesterday’s battle, though. I’d gained no levels from the encounter with the feral boars, which was no surprise considering the number of allies I’d had.

The battle’s only silver lining was the performance of the enchanted weapons. They’d proven themselves beyond all doubt. If not for the magical blades, we’d have lost far more people than we had. Now, if only we had a few dozen more fragments, we’d be able to easily route the orcs from the red dungeon. I sighed. But, of course, we didn’t, and somehow or the other, we still had to accomplish the deed. Falling deep in thought, I pondered how we might manage that.

When we broke camp that evening, I still didn’t have any answers. We had stopped early, partly from fear of getting too close to the orcs encamped around the red dungeon, but mostly to make sure we were better prepared to repel an assault from the forest’s denizens. No one in the convoy was in any doubt that we would be attacked tonight, and both Marcus and Petrov were determined that the expedition wouldn’t be found wanting a second time.

Standing with Marcus, I watched the spearmen and crafters dig a wide trench around our camp. Petrov was supervising. The big man had it in his head that we would build a Roman-like encampment, and neither Marcus nor I had seen any reason to dissuade him. With last night’s disaster still fresh in everyone’s mind, the men set to their tasks with enthusiasm, fortifying our camp, digging trenches, and even erecting a small palisade formed from branches cut by the crafters.

I glanced at Marcus. “Any news yet,” I asked.

He shook his head, forehead furrowed.

I bit my lip. The messenger squad we’d sent out this morning hadn’t returned yet. In itself, it didn’t mean anything, but both Marcus and I were worried at the lack of response from the commander. Were no reinforcements heading our way, or had the messenger squad been ambushed? No one wanted to send a second squad.

We could ill afford to weaken our forces any further. As it were, we had less than one hundred and forty men to defend the camp tonight. I surveyed the defenses being raised around the glade. Tonight will be different, I thought adamantly.

“What about the orcs?” I asked.

Marcus shook his head again. “The scouts watching them reported no movement. They appear intent on remaining in the dungeon glade.”

I grunted. I’d been half-hoping the orcs would move on. “Have they erected any defenses?”

Marcus snorted. “None. The orcs don’t seem to fear being attacked.”

That only means they’re overconfident, I thought, trying to cast the news in the best possible light. Still, I was worried. It hadn’t escaped my notice that I’d become Sierra’s highest-ranked player since returning from the Primal Keep, eclipsing even Jolin. While I had more than doubled my level in a few days, the rest of the village’s soldiers had barely advanced.

Most of the expedition’s soldiers were only level thirty players. They were under-leveled for the forest, and it had shown in the encounter with the boars. How much worse will they fare in a straight-up fight against Seasoned players? I wondered. It didn’t bear thinking upon. That’s why we couldn’t meet the orcs in open battle. We’d have to figure out another way to win or retreat.

I turned back to Marcus. “If you don’t need me for anything?” I asked, letting the question hang in the air.

Marcus shook his head. “No, you’ve done enough already, Jamie. Go and get some rest.”

I bobbed my head and walked away. It was not rest I intended, though. Finding a quiet spot amidst the camp’s occupants, I sank into a cross-legged stance and, closing my eyes, leaned back against the trunk of a tree.

It was high time I practiced my dragon magic.

Since visiting the dragon temple, I had not had the chance to experiment further with it. Foremost in my mind was finding a means to spellcraft dragonhide armor.

The encounter with the feral boars had only reinforced what I knew to be true. I needed more defensive magic. Invincible would only carry me so far. For all its advantages, the spell was not as useful in prolonged encounters or against multiple foes.

So how do I go about spellcrafting dragonhide armor?

It was, of course, the lore note I’d earned after spellcrafting magma buckler that had given me the idea, but seeing the mural in the dead temple had cemented the notion.

In my mind’s eye, I called up the image of the dragon Ashara again. Drawing on the memory, I pictured the intricate and overlapping scales that had covered the Elder’s body in as much detail as possible. I had not the slightest idea myself how to replicate such armor, yet I was hoping my magic would guide me, just as it had when I’d created flare and magma buckler.

Clearing my mind of distracting thoughts, I set to work. Opening the well of mana at my center, I drew strands of magic into my mind and imagined myself clothed in the dragon scales.

The picture that formed was more alien than I’d expected, and I had to repress a shudder of unease. Did I really want to look like that? It will only be temporary, I insisted.

My concern was unwarranted, though. My magic did not respond to my mental picture. The weaves of mana in mind stayed dormant and made no attempt to weave themselves into a spell construct. I sighed. Was I trying too much, or was what I was attempting so far outside reality, my magic did not know how to go about the task? I had no way of knowing.

All right, let’s try something a little less ambitious.

Dispelling the spell weaves I held, I pulled new threads of magic and formed another image in my mind. This time, focusing only on my hands, I pictured them coated in scales and tipped with talons similar to the Elder’s.

My magic stirred.

Yes! This was more like it. Moving uncertainly, weaves of my mana began rearranging themselves. Curbing my excitement, I watched avidly as a spell construct took shape.

More threads of mana rushed out of my center to fill the spellform, adding layer upon layer to its shape. In breathless awe, I watched the weave become more intricate.

As the minutes ticked by and the strands of magic rushing to add themselves to the weave did not slow, my awe turned to concern. How much mana did the spell require?

I glanced at my rapidly emptying pool of magic. Did I have enough? The spell construct was leeching my lifeblood, too, intertwining strands of mana with that of blood and bone. The spell kept growing, and inevitably, I started weakening.

I sagged forward, hands trembling. Blood dripped from my nose and my eyes. “No,” I protested weakly.

The spell was draining too much of my lifeforce. And while it seemed my magic knew what it needed to do, I was increasingly sure I didn’t have the reserve it required to fulfill its task. Left with no other choice, I banished the image I had been holding steady in my mind and retracted the threads of mana and lifeblood from the forming construct.

I felt the dragon magic within me balk, resisting my desire. For a moment, we tussled but eventually, it yielded and unspent lifeblood and mana seeped back into my body, revitalizing my flagging health.

I opened my eyes. Blowing out a frustrated breath, I wiped the blood from my nose and stared down at my hand. It was utterly human. In my mind’s eye, I still saw it as a clawed hand covered in dragon scales and tipped with taloned ends.

There is a spell to be learned here, I thought. If not one to fully clothe me in dragonhide armor, then one to transform my hands into replicas of a dragon limb.

But it seemed, I did not have the skill to cast such magic yet. And given the sickening weakness induced by my attempt, I deduced that trying the spell with insufficient reserves of lifeblood and mana would be dangerous, fatal even.

I guess the spell will have to wait for another day.

I closed my eyes again. Despite my failures, I saw no reason not to practice other magic. Calling on my mana, I began creating more spell weaves.

✽✽✽

A hand shook me.

Startled, my eyes flew open. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. My gaze flew to the form hovering above me. It was Marcus staring down at me with concern.

“Jamie, are you all right?” he asked.

I blinked blearily. Birds were tweeting, and insects were chirping. Squinting, I gazed upwards. Sunlight was filtering down from the trees. It’s morning, I thought stupidly. The last thing I remembered was closing my eyes to begin training my magic anew. “What’s happened?” I wondered aloud.

Marcus looked at me strangely. “You were asleep,” he said. “Deeply asleep.”

I looked at him blankly. Had I fallen asleep? Possibly, I thought. I had been strangely weary after my attempt at forming the dragonhide armor. “Why did no one wake me?” I asked Marcus. “The camp… last night, were we— Did we...?”

Marcus squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. “We weathered the night just fine.” He smiled, expressing more than a bit of relief. “We were attacked. Twice too.” He chuckled. “You slept through both assaults.”

My eyes widened in alarm. “Why didn’t you—”

“It’s all right,” Marcus said. “We didn’t need you. The defenses Petrov erected proved a match for the forest creatures that attacked. None made it past the trenches, and with our archers protected, they were able to scare off the beasts.”

I gazed at Marcus disbelievingly. “I slept through all of that?”

He bobbed his head, laughing. “Whatever you were doing last night, it drained you.” His humor faded, and he stared at me. “You needed the rest, Jamie, and we thought it best to leave you undisturbed.” He held out his hand. “But now it’s morning and time we got going again.”

I clasped his hand, and he heaved me to my feet, only then noticing that the camp was fuller than it had been last night. My gaze fell on the nearly two dozen squads of soldiers gathered on the southern end of the glade.

“Our reinforcements,” Marcus said, seeing the direction of my gaze. “They arrived last night.”

A smile broke out on my face. The forces the commander had sent nearly trebled our existing complement of soldiers. We had a real chance against the orcs now! “So the commander thinks we should go ahead with the attack?”

“I do,” said another voice from behind me.

I spun around, eyes widening.

Jolin herself had come.