Battleborne

by Dave Willmarth

  “I have a few bottles of Firebelly’s left.” Max suggested.

  “Aye, try offering one o’ them to start. Get ye on his good side.” Rockbreaker grinned.

  The captain looked around, then pointed toward a dwarf that stood out because of his attire. He wore a chainmail shirt like many of the other fighters in the army encampment. But he wore it over top of a long black robe that extended nearly to his ankles. The sleeves of the robe were embroidered with silver runes as far up as Max could see.

  Max thanked the captain and strode quickly over to the dwarven mage. When he was within a few steps, he cleared his throat. “Excuse me, would you be Ardon Spellslinger?”

  The dwarf looked up from sharpening a hand axe, then extended his neck back to look even higher, until he finally reached Max’s face. “Ah, the big fella what’s been makin all the noise ‘round here. Aye, I’m Spellslinger. What can I do fer ye?”

  “I was hoping you’d be willing to teach me an offensive magic spell or two?” He offered a smile, accidentally revealing his sharp teeth.

  The mage snorted. “Have ye looked in a mirror, lad? Ye be plenty offensive already!” He guffawed at his own joke, and Max chuckled good-naturedly to be polite.

  When the dwarf calmed a bit, he let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Alright, I suppose I could teach ye a thing or two. But it’ll cost ye!” His face turned into a scowl, as if hoping to discourage the giant half-monster.

  Max produced a bottle of the Firebelly’s Finest and offered it to him. “How’s this for a start?”

  The scowl immediately brightened, and it was the dwarf’s turn to chuckle. “Ye did yer research. That’ll do, fer a start.” He stared at Max, obviously reading his stats somehow, then pinched his bottom lip for a moment, thinking. “I have three spells a novice like yerself can use. The first two be a hundred gold each. The third, well that one be three hundred gold all on its own.”

  Max nodded. He figured the prices were steep, as the captain had warned him. But he had gold to spare at the moment, and the spells might save his life, or others. “What are they?”

  “The first two be light magic spells, especially effective against the grey bastards with their dark affinity. The first be called Blind, and it does just what ye’d think. A blast o’ light to the face o’ yer target, blinds ‘em fer twenty seconds to start, and does a hundred points o’ damage. Has a chance to blind other targets within three paces, and do minor damage to them as well.” He watched as a smile grew on Max’s face.

  “The second be called Dagger of Light. Again, as you’d expect, it sends a blade o’ pure light magic into yer target, causing two hundred points damage.” He paused, looking up at Max before rubbing his neck and motioning for him to sit, and Max complied. “That’s better. Now, both o’ these become more effective if ye choose to become a paladin o’ the light gods. Don’t matter which.”

  After a long moment of staring at each other in silence, Max realized the dwarf was waiting for an answer. “Uhm, I’ve only met one god that I know of. Regin was a good guy, and I liked him well enough, but I don’t think I’m ready to become a priest or a paladin for any god at the moment.” He watched Spellslinger’s face as he spoke, expecting to see disappointment. But the dwarf merely shrugged.

  “The third spell be a bit more sinister. A nature magic spell called Rot. Causes yer target to putrify, melts flesh, bone, wood, even softer metals. Works as a good interrupt against mages like me. The damage be slower than the light spells, but it’ll take five hundred points off yer target over ten seconds, and it hurts worse than havin’ yer nuts crushed over n over. Be warned, though. Seein’ yer foe’s face melt off ain’t for the faint o’ heart.” He watched Max’s face, and seemed pleased to see that Max didn’t seem fazed.

  “I’ll take all three.” Max pulled the five hundred gold from his storage and handed it over to an impressed-looking Spellslinger. With a sigh, he added, “This is going to hurt, isn’t it.”

  “Ha! Well, if ye already learned light or nature magic, the pain won’t be so bad. Learnin’ a new school o’ magic always leaves a bit of a sting, just ta let ya know its value.”

  Max just nodded, and closed his eyes as the dwarven mage put a hand on his head. As before, the influx of knowledge began as a sort of pressure on his mind, but quickly escalated to pain, then moved beyond to a burning fire that made him feel like his spine was being ripped out, and his ears were bleeding. Though it only lasted maybe ten seconds, Max found himself surprised when Spellslinger removed his hand, and he hadn’t soiled his loincloth. The third and most advanced spell was nature magic, which he’d already learned from Dalia. He shuddered to think how bad it would have been if all three had been from new schools.

  “Ye took that like a champ, lad.” The dwarf grinned at him. “I hope ye use the knowledge to make them greys scream as they die!”

  “Oh, I will. And when we’re done with them, I’ll do the same to at least a hundred orcs. Regin’s orders.” Max purposely bared his fangs when he smiled this time, and the old dwarf guffawed again. Max tried not to smile when the mage opened the bottle and took a swig, his face twisting into a comical pucker.

  *****

  Two hours later, Max was cursing silently to himself as he walked half-crouched through the tunnel the grey prisoner had led them to. Most of the dwarven-made and even natural tunnels he had traveled since coming underground had ceilings at least eight feet high, so he’d been able to walk upright. The damned greys’ secret escape tunnel was barely six feet high, forcing him to walk with his back and neck bent. He’d bumped his head more times than he could count, taking off a few health points each time. The dwarves behind him were greatly amused, and his elven hearing picked up quiet wagers being made about how often he’d bang his head, or how many times before they reached the end of the tunnel.

  The contingent sent through the tunnel included Rockbreaker’s company, along with a second group of roughly a hundred specialists that included trap experts, engineers, a few earth mages, and some stealthy types that Max thought looked more like assassins than scouts.

  The stealthers led the way, followed closely by the trap specialists. None of the Darkholm or allied commanders had been willing to trust the grey dwarf to lead the way once they were in the tunnel. Max agreed that he would very likely happily trigger every trap along the way if it meant killing a few of his hated enemies. So he and his prisoner were positioned about two thirds of the way back from the lead element.

  They’d been in the tunnel for half an hour, and moving slowly as the vanguard detected and disarmed trap after trap. Max had lost count at twenty. He noted his prisoner getting angrier with each pause that didn’t result in dwarven deaths. He tightened his grip on the rope that was tied around the prisoner’s neck, ready to put a quick end to any escape attempt.

  His close observance of the grey was the reason he didn’t die in that tunnel.

  The group was just moving forward again after yet another delay to disarm a trap somewhere up ahead. The grey had been casually searching the wall to his right as they waited, and just as Max took his first step, he noticed the prisoner’s eyes widen, and a smile appear on the grey’s face. Before Max could even speak, the prisoner leaped upward and slammed his head against a section of the wall. Max heard a grinding sound as the grey hit the ground again and began to run forward. The grind turned into a rumbling, and large rocks began to fall as the ceiling collapsed!

  Max yanked backward on the rope, using the grey’s weight and momentum to drag himself forward even as he pushed with his legs. There were screams from behind as his allies were crushed or buried by the rockfall. A moment later the grey screamed as Max’s pull on the rope sent him flying back into the falling debris field, and he too was crushed. Max stumbled forward several more steps, slightly disoriented by the dust cloud created by the collapse. Coughing, he turned back to see a solid wall of large rocks, small stones, and dirt had blocked off the tunnel right about where the grey
had smacked the wall.

  The dwarves ahead of him were coughing and cursing, and several had already turned around to inspect the cave-in. Rockbreaker, who was the leader of the detachment, appeared a moment later, his face grim. “What happened?”

  Max described what the grey had done, and Rockbreaker cursed loudly. “We shoulda spotted that. Damned greys.” His eyes unfocused, and he spat out a mouthful of dust. “We lost fifteen under the rubble, includin’ all the mages. The rest be cut off. Mostly engineers and our rear guard left back there. They’ll be diggin’ thru as fast as they can, but we can’t wait.”

  The captain pushed past him and began to head back toward the front. Max had the urge to stop him, wanting to try and help with the digging. His thought was that he be able to cast Rot on the stone, and dissolve a way through. But he quickly realized that, on the off chance that there might be survivors under that pile, his spell might kill them. Or cause another rockfall. So he kept quiet and followed along, now the last in line of a suddenly and sadly reduced force.

  Progress slowed slightly, and Max’s impatience grew. Not only was he uncomfortable in this crouched position, but he could hear his comrades ahead speculating on the odds that the greys above were alerted by the cave-in. Every minute they spent creeping down this tunnel, the enemy could be preparing for them at the exit.

  Gritting his teeth, he told himself that the dwarves knew what they were doing, and there was nothing at all that he could do to help. Except maybe dash through the tunnel ahead of them, setting off every trap and hoping that his tough skin, strong bones, and rapid regeneration would keep him alive. And he was not yet that impatient.

  Ten minutes later, there was a scream from the front, as one of the dwarves failed to detect or disarm a trap. The cursing ahead of Max grew louder, and he joined in with a few heartfelt words of his own. Another ten minutes, and Max began to hear the sounds of the battle above. The tunnel had initially sloped downward from their entry point, but was now sloping back upward. They were clearly nearing the surface, as Max first heard the impact of stone on stone, shots from the catapults hitting the walls or interior structures. Then he began to hear screams, and shouts, and eventually the stomping of metal-shod feet just over his head.

  The column of dwarves came to a final halt, and a whispered word was passed back along the line to him. They were at the exit, about to break into a lower level of the keep. Assuming, of course, that the prisoner hadn’t lied.

  Max equipped his bow and quiver, and began to shift from foot to foot, anxious to be moving, to be of some use after all this time in the tunnel. He wanted this fight to be over.

  The line moved forward, and for more than a minute there was only silence ahead. Max was nearly to the door that marked the end of the tunnel when the first shout rang out, quickly turning into a gurgle, then silence again.

  Max followed the dwarf ahead of him through the door, immediately nocking an arrow and raising his bow as he finally straightened himself to his full height. They were in a wide corridor with an arched ceiling, and a dozen wooden doors along either side. The dwarves ahead of him had already opened all the doors and cleared the rooms, where presumably they’d found the grey he’d heard shout. Another door at the end of the corridor stood open, and Max saw several tanks move through and take up position about ten feet past the doorway.

  Seconds later, more shouts erupted, and the battle was joined.

  More of Rockbreaker’s company pushed through behind the tanks, their own shields up and moving to reinforce their line. Max moved forward, unable to get a view of the enemy through the doorway. He saw a mass of bodies push, then push again, opening more space for his guys to fill on the other side of the door, until he himself was able to step through.

  Immediately his combat instincts caused him to survey the room. In three seconds he’d noted the wide hall, with high ceilings and a second story balcony along both sides. There were maybe fifty grey dwarves crashing against the shield wall ahead of him, with more streaming in through a doorway at the opposite end of the hall. They would soon be outnumbered.

  After a quick check to confirm that their shield wall was holding, Max raised his bow. There were a dozen greys with crossbows up on the balcony, along with a mage that Max only identified because he lobbed a small fireball down atop the Darkholm company, who raised their shields overhead and activated some kind of combined ability that caused a magic shield to snap into place. The fireball struck and seemed to be absorbed even as the dwarves’ shields began to glow.

  Max wasted no time. Taking aim, he put an arrow through the mage’s gut, interrupting the spell it was already casting. He smiled as he heard the scream, the pain of the arrow combined with the backlash of a failed spell making the mage cry out. Max quickly moved to the next grey in line, firing an arrow at its face even as it took aim at Max’s company. That one disappeared out of site, knocked back by the impact.

  As his friends smashed and slashed at the greys on the ground, Max worked his way down one balcony, then up the other side. In less than a minute there were no more greys firing at them from above. He switched his focus to the mass of grey dwarves pressing against the tanks, now more than a hundred of them. Picking one that seemed to be shouting orders, he cast Blind, followed quickly by Rot.

  The effect was devastating.

  The grey he targeted screamed and covered his eyes, as did eight or ten other dwarves around him. Then blood began to run out of the gauntlets that covered his hands. The blood quickly became lumpy as bits of flesh sloughed off. The grey’s screaming intensified as his health dropped and he experienced the pain of his face rotting.

  Max only watched for a few seconds, a satisfied grin on his face. Then he cast Confuse closer to his front line of tanks, allowing them to push back and murder the closest greys before taking a few seconds to reset and breathe.

  Out of habit, Max cast Drain on the melting grey dwarf, channeling the spell until it expired. He thought he heard a faint ding when it died, and assumed it meant he’d leveled up again. He began to alternate casting his spells with blasting greys with arrows as quickly as he could.

  As the battle raged on, Max had to repeatedly refill his quiver from the barrels in his inventory. He was firing an arrow every five or six seconds, except when he paused to cast Blind or Confuse on the tightly packed greys. He reserved Blind for greys in the rear, not wanting to blind his allies by accident. But Confuse he dropped right in front of his tanks every time. The third time he cast it, he saw the front line of tanks retreat, and the second line step forward to take their places so smoothly it looked choreographed.

  Any time Max spotted what he thought might be an officer or a mage, he hit them with Rot, followed by an arrow. He didn’t try casting Drain again, not wanting to waste precious seconds and mana channeling the single target spell.

  Max saw a crossbow bolt strike one of the healers that stood between Dalia and himself. Scanning the upper level, he saw half a dozen of them had appeared while he’d been distracted. As they were grouped together near a doorway, he used the last of his mana to cast Blind on the group, then picked them off one at a time with arrows. He didn’t bother with headshots unless he had a clear line at a stationary target. Instead he shot at torsos, taking the sure hit that would put them out of the fight if it didn’t kill them outright.

  Eventually the flow of new greys charging into the room lessened. The sounds of battle outside rose to an almost painful level, and Max thought maybe the dwarves had broken through the gate. Even though that hadn’t been their plan.

  The Darkholm company were still holding their own, though they’d clearly lost some of their number. The line of tanks retreated slightly, forming up in an arc that began and ended at the wall on either side of the doorway. The front several rows of both forces were drenched in blood and brain matter as they hammered and hacked at each other. Max focused on firing arrows as he waited for his mana to recharge. He had a few mana potions, but he had a feelin
g the battle was far from over, and he wanted to save them for an emergency. His dwarven companions were grinding through their enemy with great joy and efficiency. There were maybe thirty of the greys left standing in the room, and only one or two trickled through the door at a time.

  A few minutes more, and a cry went up from the grey dwarves nearest their rear. Max looked up in time to see a figure stride through the door, a massive hammer over one shoulder. He was wearing a simple crown of grey metal on top of an ornate filigreed helm. From head to toe he was covered in plate armor, but its weight and restrictive properties didn’t seem to slow him at all. His steps were smooth and sure. Surrounding him were four dwarves in similar, if less decorated, plate armor. Max took a moment to cast Identify on the large one.

  Agnor

  King of the Nogroz Grey Dwarves

  Level: ??

  Health: ??

  “Oh, shit.” Max muttered when he was unable to see the king’s level or health pool. He took aim at the king, who was casually strolling across the hall, in no rush to save his fighters. Loosing the arrow, Max watched as it struck the king’s exposed face just to the left of his nose, but bounced off.

  Max’s jaw dropped. What kind of magic armor could stop an arrow from his massive steel bow? He tried again, and again, watching in dismay as his arrows bounced off the ruler of the city. Deciding that attacking the king was a waste of time, he began to target the four impressive looking guards that escorted him.

  His first arrow took one in the neck, and actually penetrated. But the elite warrior only rocked backward a bit, then shrugged off the wound and took another step forward, blood dripping slowly from around the shaft. Max couldn’t believe his eyes!

  Switching out the arrows Rockbreaker had given him for the ones he’d purchased with the bow, he took aim at the same guard, and fired again. This time his arrow blasted through the guard’s face and out the back of his helm. He wobbled, taking an unsteady step, then fell face-down. Grinning to himself, Max targeted the next one. It took four shots before the elite went down. He still wasn’t dead, but he was out of the fight for the moment. On a whim, Max tried firing one of the improved arrows at the king. This time when he was struck, the king flinched. The arrow’s tip had barely pierced his skin just above his eye, but it was enough to cause blood to drip down over his eyebrow and make him blink rapidly.