Dragon Mage 082 - A Night Raid (Patreon)

375 days until the Arkon Shield falls

The plan was risky, but Thornton didn’t object to it, by which I took to mean it had merit. It took only a few minutes to put the plan in play.

Weaving erratically, I approached the campfire from the north. Thornton and Cass had told me that only one orc was awake, a medium infantryman. The other three slumbered on the southern end of the camp, about two yards from the guard on watch. Two yards was not much, but it was enough for what I intended.

Swiping away the dripping blood from the gash across my forehead, I approached the orc as silently as I could. It wouldn’t do to alert his sleeping fellows, after all.

I made for a wretched sight. My armor was ripped—artfully so—I was covered in cuts and bruises, and I limped alone and weaponless through the forest.

I was about ten yards away when the orc finally spotted me. About time, I groused. With a startled snort, the guard jerked his head up and blinked once, then twice more, as he took in my bedraggled appearance.

Had he been sleeping?

After a moment, when I made no threatening gestures, the orc dragged his gaze away from me to scan the surroundings. But to all appearances, I was alone. Before the orc could decide what action to take, I stumbled another step forward, deliberately exaggerating my limp in the process.

The orc’s eyes widened encouragingly before his gaze fixed on my hobbled left foot. A moment later, I felt a somewhat familiar ripple pass over me. Good, he was analyzing me.

Then, in what I hoped was a convincing display, I slumped to the floor, mouth working soundlessly and hands twitching.

The orc rose to his feet, his eyes fixed on my downed form. For a drawn-out moment, he stared at me, not moving and, more importantly, not raising the alarm. The seconds ticked by while I watched through half-lidded eyes for the guard to decide what to do.

After what felt like an eternity, the orc peered over his shoulder at his sleeping companions, then set a hand to his weapon and stepped silently forward. I exhaled a careful breath and hid a smile. Excellent.

My scheme hinged on the guard knowing who I was. By now, I expected that every orc in the Dominion had my description and orders to capture me.

I was gambling that this particular orc would want to claim me all for himself rather than share in the spoils with his fellows. To that end, I had taken pains to give him no cause for fear. Both my appearance and the Trials’ response to his analyze would’ve assured him that I was harmless. If the disdain on the guard’s face when he beheld my level—less than half his own—was anything to go by, my plan was working.

The orc did not hurry as he approached me, which was all to the good. It gave me time. As my foe drew closer, pausing between steps to scan the surroundings, I called upon my magic and began casting from my right hand. I had made certain to keep it outstretched and pointed the guard’s way when I fell.

I completed my spell before the orc reached me and waited, chest heaving and breathing exaggerated. Ignorant of the casting, the guard stepped into the spelled ground without concern.

Wilting ward triggered. One hostile affected.

In a heartbeat, the spell stripped away my target’s stamina and strength. The orc swayed listlessly but stayed upright. Eyes rounding in shock, he opened his mouth to scream in alarm, but before he could get the words out, Cass dropped down from the trees and directly onto the orc’s shoulders.

Weakened by the wilting ward, the guard could not shake off the smaller player nor fend off the arm she wrapped around his mouth to muffle his cry.

I was still lumbering ungainly to my feet when Thornton landed in a crouch before the orc. Bouncing lightly to his feet, the sergeant darted forward, and in what seemed an eerily coordinated maneuver, Cass wrenched back the guard’s head, baring his throat in time for Thornton to slash it open.

An unknown orc, a level 118 Seasoned player, has died.

I blinked, astonished by the suddenness of the orc’s death.

“Help me,” Thornton hissed. The guard, his strings cut, had begun to topple over. The sergeant had his arms wrapped around the orc’s torso, attempting to slow his fall. Stepping forward, I lent my own weight to his efforts.

We succeeded—mostly—and the orc hit the ground with a dull thud, Cass still atop him. Before Thornton or I could react, the redhead attacked the corpse in a frenzy, stabbing her long daggers through every opening she could find.

I watched speechless, stunned by the ferocity of her assault. Thornton staggered back, watching in horror as his fellow scout hacked at the body. Overcoming my own surprise, I stepped forward and laid a hand on the redhead’s shoulder. “Cass,” I whispered, “it’s over.”

She flung up her head to pin me with a glare, her mouth contorted in fury, and her face bathed in blood. There was no recognition in her wide staring eyes.

I squeezed her shoulder. “It’s over,” I repeated.

Recognition and something else—disappointment? grief?—seeped back into her eyes, and she stepped off the orc, making no attempt to rid herself of the gore covering herself. Spinning on her heels, Cass turned her gaze on the orc camp and the other three still-slumbering forms.

“Let’s go get them,” she hissed. Without waiting for a response, Cass stalked towards her targets.

Thornton looked at me helplessly. “She’ll be okay,” I said reassuringly. I hoped it was true, but I wasn’t convinced.

I waved the scout sergeant on. “Stick to the plan and go help her.” I hesitated, then added. “And try to keep her alive.”

I didn’t follow, afraid my own poor stealth would botch the assassinations the pair attempted. As Thornton crept forward in Cass’ wake, my thoughts circled back to the redhead. The upswell of grief in the scout was palpable, and it was driving her to behave recklessly.

It was a state and reaction I was intimately familiar with. Seeing Cass’ suffering, I could not but recall my own torment after Ma’s death. Images flashed through my mind.

Mum’s beheading.

Clawing at Yarl.

My ploy with the grenades.

Bile surged up in me, and I felt the pull of despair’s black depths once more. But whether due to the passage of time, distance, or experience, I managed to resist its dark clutches this time.

Swallowing painfully, I gulped in air. The resurging memories had set my emotions roiling, but in their aftermath, I was left with a moment of stark clarity. A new and startling thought dropped in my mind.

Had my reaction to mum’s death been as… untempered?

My brows drew down in consternation. It was a painful question and one that struck to the core of who I’d become—of what I’d fashioned myself into. But as much as I wished to, I could not ignore the question. Shuddering in sudden fear, I delved back into the past.

I replayed mum’s execution in my mind, watched my assault on Yarl once more, and saw again my desperate gambit with the grenades. The memories did not stop there. Many more jockeyed for attention—highlighting every moment I’d given way to rage since entering Overworld.

When examined under the cold light of reason, my actions took on a very different cast. In hindsight, I’d been… reckless, senseless even. I had been lucky to survive that first day and the other times since. Even worse, I understood the impetus behind my actions now: hate and despair.

I squeezed my eyes shut, dismayed by the darkness in me. Holding a mirror to oneself was never pleasant, especially when what you saw reflected was your own blackest moments. I had been so sure my cause was just and my intentions noble. I had slaughtered Ma’s murderers, after all. They had deserved it, and while I still didn’t doubt that, I was forced to reconsider the wisdom of my actions since.

Was the path I was upon the right one? The vendetta I’d pledged myself to was all-consuming and demanded everything of me. The orcs needed to be opposed. I was certain of that, but…

But am I going about it the right way?

I shook my head, locking away my doubts. I didn’t know the answer to that question, and I would have to ponder it again, but now was not the time. We had three more orcs to kill, and I needed to be on guard in case things went wrong.

My eyes flickered to Cass and Thornton. Both had dropped into a half-crouch and were sneaking up on the three sleeping forms.

The next stage of our assault was about to begin.

✽✽✽

From ten yards away, as close as I dared go to the sleeping orcs, I watched Thornton and Cass close on their chosen marks.

My gaze darted to the right of the camp, taking in the wagon and the cage loaded onto it. Inside, I could make out four still mounds. Neither the prisoners nor the other orcs had stirred during the skirmish with the guard. On the left side of the camp, two reptilian creatures were tethered by rope to a nearby tree. They, too, slept undisturbed.

The beasts were about the size of horses but built low to the ground like oversized monitor lizards. They had four limbs and a wicked-looking tail. Their bodies were covered in hard, rugged scales, and harnesses had been draped over them. The orcs had obviously used the creatures to pull the wagon. Curiously, I analyzed one.

The target is a level 21 domesticated great lizard.

The lizards were no threat, and I dismissed them from my thoughts. Drumming my fingers along the length of my staff, I returned my attention to the orcs. Everything was going according to plan, but matters could still go horribly wrong. And the worst part was, if things did fall apart, it would not be me who would bear the brunt of the consequences.

How does the old lady do it? I wondered. Sending others into danger was nerve-racking and gave me a new appreciation for the burdens she carried.

The two scouts reached the slumbering orcs and hovered over their marks. With blades drawn, they glanced up. Our foes were sleeping fully armored but had removed their helmets, leaving the necks exposed.

Readying my staff, I summoned dragonfire and nodded to the pair, giving them the go-ahead. Both dropped to their knees, and as one, their daggers drove down, plunging through the orcs’ throats.

Cass’ target didn’t so much as twitch as her blade drove into his flesh. Thornton was not so lucky. I couldn’t tell from this distance whether he had mistimed his strike or simply been unfortunate, but the orc beneath his hand stiffened and jerked before somehow ripping free of his blade.

“We’re under—” the orc half-shouted.

He got no further, though, as Thornton tackled him. Straddling his foe, the sergeant hacked viciously downwards while the orc did his best to fend him off.

The third orc rolled to his feet, searching frantically for his weapons, but before he could rally to his companion’s aid, I sent a line of dragonfire scorching through the darkness and struck him on the back of his exposed head.

Skin charred instantly, hair caught alight, and the orc wailed in sudden anguish. Limping forward, I hurled another fire ray his way.

“Leave him!” I shouted to Cass, who was moving to tackle my target. “Help Thornton.”

The redhead hesitated for only a fraction of a second before adding her own strikes to her partner’s. I kept up my own assault. Striding forward at the quickest pace I could manage, I struck my target with a near-constant stream of fire rays. The orc stumbled about the camp, covering his head with his arms as he tried to shield himself from my attacks.

His efforts were in vain.

Without letting up, I burnt his eyes, his mouth, and his ears, leaving them all black and charred. Unable to see, hear, or even give voice to his agony, the orc dropped to his knees.

From the right side of the camp, I heard the four prisoners cry out, but I paid them no heed, my attention fixed on my target. Closing the distance, I flung aside my staff and raised both hands, flaring. Dragonfire—unconstrained and eager—leaped at the orc. In seconds, his entire form was wreathed in fire, and he slumped to the ground, a living torch.

Leaving my foe slowly dying, I turned to Cass and Thornton, but they didn’t need my help. Their own foe was dead too.

The camp was ours.