Dragon Mage 077 - Routing the Enemy (Patreon)

376 days until the Arkon Shield fall

I had not taken more than a dozen steps out of the scorched circle left by the fireball when two shapes emerged from the foliage to bar my path. It was Petrov and Marcus.

Marcus’ hand clamped onto me. “Jamie, what’s happened?”

I shook my head mutely, unable to get the words out.

“Where are the others?” he asked, shaking me urgently.

I met his gaze, my eyes empty. “Dead,” I whispered. “The orcs killed them.”

“What,” Marcus exclaimed. “How did—”

“There is no time for this,” Petrov broke in. “Are the orcs following?”

I nodded.

“Then we must go,” the bearded giant said.

Before I could say anything further, Petrov stepped forward and slung me over his shoulder. “What are you doing,” I protested weakly. “I can walk.”

“You can,” he said grimly, “but you can’t run.” Turning around, he trotted through the forest, Marcus on his heels.

Around us, I sensed a second squad of scouts fall into place. A glimpse of red hair attracted my attention and for a moment, I felt a spurt of hope rush through me.

Laura? Was she still alive? Then I saw the figure clearly and I realized it was Cass, her twin. Oh, God. How do I tell her?

Cassandra’s gaze latched onto mine, her eyes pleading and her lip trembling. Bobbing unceremoniously on Petrov’s back I couldn’t speak, but nor could I ignore her mute appeal.

I shook my head and mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

Cass’ head jerked away, tears streaming silently down her face. But she said nothing as she kept pace with Petrov. I closed my eyes, unable to bear my own guilt and shame. I had survived, and the others had not.

It was a couple hundred yards to the ambush spot, and my escort neither slowed nor paused on the way there. A squad of spearmen emerged from concealment when we reached the old lady’s chosen battleground—a dried-out riverbed with steep slopes on both sides. Hurrying forward, they took me from Petrov’s shoulders and helped me to the commander’s side at the far end of the ravine.

Jolin’s gaze took in my scorched armor, soot-covered face, and rough demeanor. “What happened,” she asked tersely.

“The orc commander,” I replied, panting slightly. “He hit us with a fireball spell.”

“He’s a mage?” she asked sharply.

I shook my head. “No, he used an enchanted item of sorts, a gauntlet, I think.”

“The orcs are behind us,” Marcus said from my side. “We’ve got less than a minute.”

Jolin nodded. “Is this commander with them?”

I began to shake my head in denial, then paused. “I don’t think so, but he makes for an unmistakable figure. The scouts should be able to tell.”

The commander nodded and jerked her head at Marcus, who hurried away. Turning to Petrov and the spearmen squad behind him, she said, “Get back into hiding.” She held Petrov’s gaze. “And let’s make this count. We’ve lost enough people already.”

The giant bobbed his head and climbed up one side of the ravine to join the soldiers concealed there. I made to follow, but the commander stopped me, “Stay with me, Jamie. I don’t want you out there.”

I glanced at her. “But—” I protested.

She shook her head. “I understand your desire to be in this fight, but I can’t allow it. I need you—” her eyes turned cold—“to deal with the orc commander later.”

I swallowed bitterly, feeling cheated of my chance at some small measure of redemption. I knew Jolin would brook no dissent, though. Not now, and not about this. Nodding, I followed her as she hid amongst the boulders in the riverbed.

It was only a handful of seconds later that we heard the tramp of marching feet. The orcs had arrived. I wondered if their commander had sent the second squad too. I hoped so.

The forest around us was silent, seeming to sense the looming violence. A few moments later, a squad of orcs emerged in sight, ten strong and marching in two disciplined ranks through the center of the ravine. They were making directly for me, despite my concealment.

Even without scouts, the orcs were somehow able to track my flight. How are they doing that? But I didn’t have time to wonder about it further as Petrov sprang the ambush.

From atop both slopes of the ravine, Sierra’s soldiers emerged to unleash a storm of spears and arrows on the surprised orcs. Chaos erupted. The enemy warriors skidded to a halt, drawing their weapons and backing up against one another, but the sheer volume of projectiles descending upon them was too great to fend off.

The enemy might have been in full plate, but even solid steel couldn’t stop three hundred spears and arrows and, despite the orcs’ attempts at evasion, the projectiles began to find chinks in their armor. One after the other the fighters cried out, clutching bleeding arms or injured legs.

I watched it with narrowed eyes. Fury and anger lashed at me, and I wanted nothing more than to rush towards the pinned-down orcs and feel them burn under my own hands. But knowing what was at stake and sensing the keen gaze of the commander, I reined in my emotions and held myself in check.

After another devastating volley, the enemy rallied. Realizing they made for easy targets exposed at the bottom of the dried-out riverbed, the lightly wounded orcs charged down the ravine.

The commander had anticipated the warriors’ maneuver though, and the ground had been prepared. The enemy managed only a dozen steps before they ran full tilt into the sharpened stakes that were raised to greet them. Their wooden tips drove deep into the heavy fighters, wrenching them to a halt.

The battle—such as it was—ended unsatisfactorily quick after that.

✽✽✽

After the last orc fell—riddled with arrows and spears—Jolin reassembled our small warband and marched us towards the dungeon but stopped us well short of the clearing.

Moving forward with only Petrov, Marcus, and myself for company, the old lady eyed the still-burning nearby patch of woods. “One fireball did all that?” she murmured.

I nodded, swallowing bitterly. “It’s a more powerful spell than anything I can cast.” I glanced at the scout captain. It was his people I’d failed to save. “I’m sorry, Marcus.”

He turned away, his face full of reproach.

“I barely managed to escape myself,” I went on in a rush. “There was nothing I could—”

Petrov clamped a hand down on my shoulder. “No need for explanations, Jamie,” he said. “We understand.”

“How many more fireballs do you think the orc can cast Jamie?” Jolin asked.

I eyed Marcus sideways but let the scout captain be and answered the commander. “Considering he’s using spirit to power the spell… I would guess he has no more than two or three spells left in him.”

“You guess?” Marcus growled, spinning back to face me. “We’ve lost too many good men and women already. We can’t afford to—”

Jolin laid a hand on the captain, quietening him. She turned back to me. “Is there any way to be certain?”

I kept my gaze on the old lady, steadfastly ignoring Marcus’ glare. The blonde man had every right to be mad—and truthfully, I was angry too—but I couldn’t deal with his emotions right now, or my own for that matter. “If I observe him with magesight, both before and after he casts the spell, I should be able to assess how much spirit each spell consumes.”

Jolin bobbed her head. “Thank you, Jamie.” Her gaze darted back to the glade. “Then here’s what we do.”

✽✽✽

On the old lady’s orders, Marcus and I concealed ourselves in the foliage on the northern end of the clearing. Tiptoeing to the edge of the tree line, I carefully brushed aside the intervening leaves and studied the enemy within the glade.

The remaining ten orcs had drawn up into a half-circle, facing west, the direction from which we’d first appeared. They were tense and alert. Standing at the rear of their formation was the orc commander.

At the sight of Zumen, my magic awakened, setting my blood alight and filling me to bursting with dragonfire. In a flash, the superheated flames surged outwards.

I was nearly too slow to realize what was happening. Reacting to my emotions and the presence of the orc commander, my magic was taking matters into its own hands.

It, too, wanted Zumen dead.

Almost, I didn’t act. But then reason caught up. I couldn’t give in to my magic’s desires, no more than I could indulge my own. The commander and the others were depending on me. The plan hinged on me playing my part.

Moving quickly, I quenched the magic rising in me before dragonfire could erupt from my hands and give away our position.

The magic retreated—sullen and reluctant, but it still moved in compliance with my will. I blew out a relieved breath and waited a heartbeat while the sudden pounding of my pulse subsided. That was too close.

Turning back to my target, I opened my magesight. The physical world faded, replaced by luminous weaves of magic. The lifeforms of the second squad’s fighters, each a dense mass of spirit, pulsed and burned with bright intensity.

My gaze bore into Zumen. By comparison, his spirit weave was dulled and frayed, evidence enough of the toll his previous spell had claimed. My eyes narrowed as I tried to measure the damage.

“What do you see?” Marcus asked from beside me, his voice barely audible. The scout captain had gotten over his uncharacteristic anger, and before we’d set out, he had apologized for his outburst. Knowing the expedition’s earlier losses still ate at him, I hadn’t taken his words to heart and had forgiven him easily.

I bit my lip. “The fireball has certainly cost the orc,” I whispered back, “but without a baseline, I can’t be certain how much of his spirit he has depleted.”

Marcus sighed. “Then we move forward with the plan?”

My brows drew down. I didn’t like the plan, and I’d argued against it—almost as much as Marcus had—but I hadn’t been able to come up with a better one myself. I nodded. “Give them the go-ahead.”

Marcus inclined his head in acknowledgment and backed away from the clearing. I kept my gaze focused on Zumen.

A few moments later, a lone shape emerged on the western end of the glade. A spider silk cloak was draped over the figure, and a hood concealed her face. She wielded a wizard’s staff too, my wizard staff.

It was Cass.

I swallowed in sudden fear for the grieving scout. The redhead had been insistent that she be the one to play the role of me. Her twin’s death had shaken her, and she wanted revenge.

I, of all people, could not deny her that right. I had been hoping, though, that the commander would dismiss her demand out of hand, but Jolin knew well the value of hate and hadn’t denied Cassandra either.

My gaze flew back to the orcs. They had stiffened at the sight of Cass but made no move yet to advance towards her. I saw the orc commander’s eyes narrow and heard him snarl something under his breath. He didn’t raise his gauntlet, though. Not yet.

Will he analyze her? I wondered. If he did, it would make a mockery of the plan.

Moving with deliberate haste, Cassandra lowered her staff in the direction of the orcs, tempting their commander further. My heart thumped rapidly. This is suicide.

Cass, I feared, did not intend on surviving what was to come.

Reacting to the scout’s actions and keen to charge, the orcs set hands to weapons. “Stand to,” Zumen snapped and flung up his right arm. In a rush to beat Cassandra in her casting, the orc commander channeled spirit through his magical gauntlet and sent a fireball sailing towards his target.

My gaze flew back to Cassandra. Flee, I urged silently. You’ve done your part. He’s cast.

For what seemed like an eternity, the cloaked figure did not move. Then in a whirl of motion nearly too quick to follow, she whipped around and dashed back into the forest. Seeing the speed of Cass’ retreat, hope surged in me. She had flown far faster than I could have managed. Perhaps, she will escape.

With a tremendous roar of noise, and an explosion of light and heat, the miniature sun splashed into the forest and set it to burning with hungry flames. I watched intently, looking for signs of Cass. Had she made it out of range? I couldn’t tell.

Marcus reappeared at my side. “Well?” he asked.

My gaze darted back to Zumen. He was bent over and hunched. Planting his bastard sword into the ground, the orc was leaning heavily on it for support.

My lips turned up into an unpleasant smile. I barely needed the confirmation but opened my magesight anyway. As expected, the orc’s spirit had been depleted to the dregs. “We’re in luck,” I whispered back to Marcus. “He can’t cast anymore.”

Marcus’ eyes lit up. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

He clasped my arm and tugged at me, “Well, come on then, let’s go back and tell the commander the good news.”

I nodded, eager to find out if Cass had survived.

✽✽✽

The redheaded scout was alive and well.

Catching sight of her amidst the soldiers surrounding the old lady, I hurried forward and pulled her in a hug, ignoring the stares of the soldiers around me.

“Well done,” I murmured to her. And I wasn’t just referring to her escape from the fireball. The scout had decided to live. “You chose right.”

Cass remained stiff in my arms, but after a moment, she softened and gave me a weary sigh. “Did you get what you need?”

I nodded. “How are you feeling?”

The scout looked away, not meeting my eyes.

Disturbed by her evasion but knowing better than to pester her, I turned to Jolin. “He’s out of spells.”

The commander’s eyes glinted, “Good, then we proceed.” Turning to Petrov and the other soldiers, she waved them forward. “See it done.”

Sierra’s forces leaped forward with unabashed enthusiasm. They knew what they needed to do, and they were as eager for revenge as Cass. The scout unclipped my cloak and handed me my staff, then hurried to join her squad.

She wanted to be in on the kill too.

Reequipping my items, I followed more slowly, keeping pace with the old lady. Unexpectedly, my own thirst for vengeance had been ebbed. Perhaps it was seeing how my magic reacted to my own dark emotions or observing Cass’ behavior, but whatever the case, I felt little desire to partake in more bloodshed right now.

Jolin looked at me curiously as I remained at her side, but she didn’t remark on my choice. “This should not take long,” she said.

I nodded. The rest of the plan was simple and relied on our overwhelming superiority of numbers. The mixed force of four hundred spearmen and archers would surround the glade and assail the orcs within with arrows, weakening them significantly if not outright destroying them entirely.

Given their unwillingness to leave the clearing, I doubted the orcs would charge our archers, but even if they did, without magic, their efforts would not suffice regardless of their higher levels.

We reached the glade and fell in behind the spearmen formed up in a line two rows deep along the western edge. Petrov had chosen to wait upon the old lady’s arrival, and the battle had not yet commenced. I peered into the clearing. The orcs had drawn up in a tighter circle, and from their drawn faces and heavy gazes, they seemed to realize their doom was upon them.

Petrov glanced at Jolin, and she nodded. “Fire,” he roared, giving the order.

The sky darkened as arrows arced down into the glade from three different sides. I held my magic in readiness but refrained from joining the attack. It seemed unnecessary.

Despite the seeming impossibility of the task, the orcs attempted to fend off the humming barrage. Huddling together in a mass, they raised their shields and bowed their heads against the onslaught. Arrows thudded into their formation.

Most fell away harmlessly, but here and there, a few found their marks. One penetrated an eye slit, another stabbed through the toe of a boot, and more yet found the weak spots between the armor joints.

The orcs stayed stoically silent through it all, despite the anguish writ in their postures. By ill-fortune more than anything else, two orcs were quickly felled and slumped lifelessly on the floor. My gaze remained fixed on Zumen, searching for the slightest hint of threat, but with his chest heaving and head bent, the orc did not react to the barrage.

“Again,” Petrov ordered harshly.

A second volley rose in the air, then a third, and a fourth. By that point, more than half the orcs were down, and none remained uninjured.

Jolin turned to Petrov. “Finish it,” she ordered.

The big man nodded. “Forward,” he bellowed. In time to his order, the dressed lines of spearmen marched forward with spears lowered and shields held at the ready.

I turned away. The orc commander was already dead, having died with barely a whimper. None of the archers’ arrows had managed to pierce Zumen’s armor, but alone and without support against our forces’ multiple enchanted weapons, he had stood little chance.

It was over. We had captured the red dungeon.