Dragon Mage 078 - Dead Hollow (Patreon)

376 days until the Arkon Shield falls

After the orcs’ demise, matters moved quickly.

The civilians were brought into the glade. The gatherers set to enlarging the clearing while the builders, under Soren’s direction, began constructing the fort.

Other than the excavations needed for the structure’s foundations, the rest of the building work mainly involved assembly rather than actual construction. Many of the struts and supports required for the fort’s skeleton had already been manufactured, repurposed for the expedition’s use from other ongoing projects at Sierra.

The soldiers, too, were kept busy. Led by Petrov, half of the expeditionary force was pressed into service as laborers, digging and hauling materials for the crafters. The other half, commanded by Marcus, were deployed to guard the glade. The commander moved through the pockets of activity, observing everything and only intervening with a quiet word where necessary.

The orcs’ remains had been piled carelessly atop one another next to the two white tents for later attention. Many of the bodies were so punctured by spears and arrows that they were nearly unrecognizable and were given a wide berth by passing soldiers and crafters.

Our own dead had been seen to already. We had lost only eleven soldiers in the battle, a remarkable feat, even given our numerical superiority. My lips twisted bitterly. In fact, if not for the early deaths of Laura’s squad, we’d have lost only one soldier—a spearman felled by a lucky stroke from an injured orc.

Rationally, I knew there was nothing I could’ve done to save the scouts, but I still felt responsible for their deaths, and I’d spent nearly every moment since the battle’s conclusion replaying the sequence of events that had led to them dying in my mind.

What could I have done differently? I wasn’t sure. I only knew I’d failed them.

I sighed. Not wanting to fall back into a cycle of self-recrimination again, I approached the obelisk in the glade’s center. It stretched up from the forest floor, a gigantic construct, larger even than the one marking the green dungeon in the mountains.

I walked a slow circle around the structure, ignoring the crafters and soldiers hurrying about me. When the fort was completed, the obelisk would reside within its main bailey.

The red sigils—and this time, I knew them to be sigils, not runes—carved into the black stone surface shone faintly in the sunlight. Stepping forward, I touched one. A Trials message opened in my mind.

You have discovered the rank 3 dungeon: Dead Hollow. Last cleared: never. Status: fully seeded. Availability: unoccupied. Maximum party size: 4 Trainees. Time limit: 5 days. Other restrictions: human entrants only.

This dungeon may be exited at any time. However, the minimum waiting period between reattempts is ten days. Do you wish to enter the dungeon?

Warning: rank 3 dungeons are designed for a full party of Veterans. Entering the dungeon with less than 4 players may result in an insurmountable challenge.

I swallowed as I read the information. A veteran dungeon. It was only now, staring at the dungeon’s description, that I acknowledged the unpalatable truth. I couldn’t enter. I was far from ready.

Still, I was tempted to slip in, if only to see what was inside. But I could guess. I’d learned from Regna that dungeon names were not arbitrary but reflected their design and occupants.

“Dead Hollow,” I mused. What sort of challenges would the dungeon hold? Undead? Skeletons? Liches? Squelching the urge to enter and find out, I refused the Trials invite.

“What do you make of it?”

I swung around to find the commander standing behind me, her gaze fixed on the black monolith.

“It’s a valuable resource,” I said, “but one the village is a long way from being able to exploit.”

Stepping forward, Jolin ran her fingers along the stone’s surface, her eyes unfocusing momentarily as the Trials sent her the same message it had me. “Remarkable,” she murmured and arched one eyebrow. “You entered one of these?”

I smiled. “Sort of. The obelisk is no more than a marker. Accepting the Trials request will cause a rift to open to the deadlands, where the dungeon itself is located.”

The commander shook her head. Whether it was in disbelief, or at the peculiarities of Overworld, I wasn’t sure. “And you will attempt this one too?” she asked, her voice studiedly neutral.

“No,” I admitted.

This time, the old lady failed to hide her surprise.

“It is a bit more than I bargained for,” I explained. “I’m not ready yet to enter.”

Jolin laughed. “Well, that’s a first.”

I stared at her blankly.

“The first I’ve heard you admit to not being able to overcome an obstacle,” she clarified.

I attempted a scowl, but my heart was not in it. She was right, I knew. So I simply nodded. “How is the fort coming along?” I asked, gesturing towards the crafters.

“Soren believes the shell of the fort will only take a few more hours to complete,” Jolin said. “If his people can manage to keep to that schedule, all the Trials prerequisites will be met by sunset.”

I whistled appreciatively. “That quickly?”

Jolin nodded. “Let’s hope so. But if not today, I trust you and Marcus will have the fort established by tomorrow.”

My ears perked up at her phrasing. “You’re leaving?” I gazed beyond the commander and, sure enough, saw two dozen infantry squads drawn up on the western end of the glade.

“I am,” Jolin confirmed. “If we’re to reach Sierra by nightfall, my company has to set out now. I only came to say goodbye before we left.”

“I understand,” I said. “And don’t worry, we’ll manage here.”

Jolin smiled. “I have faith in you.” She paused. “One more thing.”

I looked at her curiously, uncertain what else she needed to say. “Go on.”

“Tara and her company will be here in a few more days.”

“Tara?” I asked, startled.

The old lady nodded. “I sent a messenger to her as soon as I received the news about the orcs. She and Lance should already be on their way back to Sierra.”

I was still puzzled. “But why recall her?”

“I’ve been forced to reconsider the distribution of our forces,” Jolin admitted. “With two separate sightings of the orcs—one here and the other to the north—I have to assume they are in the region in significant numbers. Our own soldiers need to be in a position to counter them if we must.” She sighed. “We are spread too thinly at the moment, Jamie, and investigating the disturbance in the forest is no longer a priority.”

I nodded slowly. I was uncertain how I felt about the commander’s revelation. It had been a while since I’d spoken to Tara, and our last parting had been less than amicable. Still, reinforcing the fort made sense.

“Tara, as you know, is a force to be reckoned with, and I need her where the fire is hottest,” Jolin went on, a smile flickering across her face. “As soon as I get back to Sierra, I will send her company to reinforce the fort, but I’m not sure when they will get here.” Her eyes darted back to me. “What are your plans?”

I bit my lip, thinking. I’d intended on staying with the expedition until the settlement core was activated and entering the dungeon thereafter. But now? Should I return to Sierra with Jolin?

I grimaced. Sooner or later, I would have to face Tara again. Might as well be now. The forest also appeared full of high-ranked creatures, so I wouldn’t lack opportunities to level. “I’ll stay until the fort is fully claimed,” I said at last.

“Excellent,” the old lady said. “Then I guess this is farewell. I have left Sierra unattended long enough. It’s time I headed back.”

I threw her a salute. “Goodbye, commander, and safe travels.”

✽✽✽

I accompanied Jolin to the edge of the glade and watched while her company set out. They had an arduous march ahead of them, but with the commander in charge, I didn’t doubt they’d arrive safely in Sierra.

Once Jolin’s company disappeared from sight, I turned about and surveyed the glade. The crafters were halfway complete in erecting a wooden palisade around the perimeter of the clearing. From what Marcus had told me, this wall would eventually become the innermost layer of the fort’s defenses.

Soren’s grand plan was a central tower shielded within three concentric layers of fortifications. But before the head builder’s design could be realized, the loggers had to significantly expand the clearing and provide the builders with tons more of wood. That would take days. In the meantime, Soren’s people were constructing the tower’s ground floor to house the settlement core, which would be the heart of the new fort.

Forts, like settlements themselves, also had several prerequisites that needed to be fulfilled. Though, the founding requirements of a fort were less onerous than for a village. One precondition was a boundary wall securing the perimeter—hence the palisade. A second was a building to house the core—the construction of which was underway right now. The final requirement was enough guards to occupy the fort, easily met given the size of our company.

Work was progressing apace. Soren will hit his schedule, I thought. Heading back into the glade, I looked about in search of Marcus. The crafters didn’t need my help, but maybe the guards did.

Halfway through the clearing, my gaze fell on the pile of orc corpses. No one had seen to them yet. Hmm…

I was curious to inspect Zumen’s gauntlet, but given revulsion, I knew I would need help to thoroughly examine it.

Seeing a squad of spearmen nearby, I waved a pair over. “Soldiers! Yes, you two. Come here, please.” Two fewer guards on the perimeter wouldn’t make much difference.

The spearmen hurried over, and I explained what I needed. “Strip the orcs of their gear and pile it there,” I said, gesturing to a spot free of blood and gore. “Their commander’s gear, you can stack over there,” I added, pointing to another area.

The two soldiers set about the tasks, and I turned to the white tents. Both were well-made and sized to fit orcs. Without needing to duck my head, I entered the first.

The inside was lavishly furnished. A nine-foot-long bed with silk sheets lay on one end, a woven rug was thrown across the floor, and a polished desk and plush chair were set against the right side. This was Zumen’s tent.

Two wooden chests were beside the desk, and I made straight for them. Leaning down, I tried opening one of the chests.

Revulsion triggered. This item is of orcish manufacture and may not be used by you.

Urgh. Rising to my feet, I attempted to lift the lid with the tip of my staff but got the same response from the Trials. “Peter,” I called.

One of my drafted helpers appeared in the tent. “Yes, mage Jamie?”

“Open that, will you?”

The spearman bobbed his head and flipped over the chest without objection. I peered inside. It held dozens of glass bottles, many of which appeared empty already. A single sniff was enough to give away their contents. So orcs like to drink too.

“Ah,” Peter exclaimed, rubbing his hands in glee. He’d figured out what the bottles contained too.

I chuckled at the soldier’s delight. “Open the other chest, then you can go tell your friends about it.”

Peter did as I bade, revealing the contents of the second chest. It was filled to the brim with clothes. Garish, colorful garments that didn’t seem at all suitable for fieldwork. I sighed. I’d been hoping for something a bit more useful.

Unbidden, Peter began rifling through the clothes. Searching for more alcohol, I thought with a smile. Leaving him to it, I turned about to go check the other tent.

“What’s this?” I heard the soldier mutter.

Pausing at the opening, I swung about. Peter was holding a slip of something in his hands. “What do you have there?”

The soldier shrugged. “A note,” he said offhandedly. “Or part of one. Something about spotting orcs.”

I frowned. A note? “Let me see that,” I said, stepping back to the soldier. Obligingly, Peter handed over the item.

Curiously, revulsion didn’t trigger when I handled the object. It isn’t of orcish make then, I thought, scrutinizing the item carefully.

The note in question was a scrap of parchment. Paper, I mused. It was nice to finally see evidence of it, if only a tiny piece. Turning the parchment over, I took in the message that had been scribbled onto it. Strangely enough, I could—

I gasped.

I stared at the paper in stupefied fascination, simply unable to believe what my mind was telling me.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked worriedly.

Pulling my gaze away from the note, I blinked at him. “Get Captain Marcus and Petrov,” I ordered. “Now.”

Not questioning the command, the spearman dashed out. I bent my head back to the note, studying the scribbled words anew. It was not so much what they said that worried me but their aching familiarity.

The message had been written in English.