He put the ring away when Red appeared, standing on his chest. “You didn’t look at all the notifications.”
She was right, he’d been distracted by the loot. “Show me.” He smiled when Red waved a hand with a flourish, and more notifications appeared.
Skill Level Increase! Your Intimidation skill has increased by +5!
Peace through Intimidation! You forced War Leader An’zalor to accept Darkholm’s offer of peace by turning his own people against him, then basically threatening to eat his face. Well done!
Skill Level Increase! Your Diplomacy skill has increased by +5!
See previous notification.
Minimum Class requirements met! You have earned the right to choose a Class!
After killing a king, seizing his city, committing acts that raised your Diplomacy skill above level five, and recruiting at least three hundred citizens, you have met the minimum requirements of the Sovereign. This is a rare class.
Would you like to accept the Class: Sovereign?
Max was more than a little surprised. He thought the fact that the gods, or the system, or whatever ruled this world, had declared him to be king was all there was to it. But apparently there was also a class to go with it.
“Uh, Red?”
“Yep. I’ve been reading all about it since yesterday, while you were fooling around doing mundane stuff instead of paying attention to the important things.” She crossed her arms and glared. He couldn’t help but smile. She was cute when she grumped at him.
Carefully keeping his voice neutral, he asked, “And what have you learned?”
She looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then uncrossed her arms and sat down. “First you need to know that in this world you can have more than one class. Though one must be considered your primary class. Every class has its benefits, and drawbacks. For example, this Sovereign class grants you bonuses to your negotiation skills when dealing with representatives of other nations. It also increases your ability to command, making those of a lower station more likely to obey you. And it assists with inspiring loyalty among your vassals and citizens.” She paused for a moment, looking up at him.
“But it’s not all sweet cake and honey. The downside to the class is that every action you take, good or bad, affects a wide range of people. If you piss off the kobolds, for example, your merchants may end up paying higher prices to theirs, or get hit with higher taxes. In short, your people reap the benefits, or pay the prices, for your actions.”
Max shook his head. “This is going to take some getting used to. Do you think I should accept the class, Red?”
She looked at him as if he were a moron. “Are you kidding? You accepted the throne, why would you not accept the rare, potentially very powerful class that goes with it?”
“Right.” Max mentally accepted the class, and golden light swirled around him, temporarily blinding him. When it cleared, there was a new Class tab on his interface. But he was too tired to explore it. “Anything else I need to know before I sleep, Red?”
“As your guide, my official recommendation is that if you’re going to play around with plants and potions, you also choose the Alchemist class as soon as you can. And you know how I mentioned that every class has its benefits? Well some classes also offer benefits in relation to other classes, skills, and professions. Like Alchemist gives you a boost to the Cooking skill, due to extensive knowledge of ingredients and how they interact. This helps you not only create better tasting food with more powerful buffs, but lets you raise your skill levels more quickly, making it easier to earn the Chef profession. And Herbology boosts both the Alchemist class and the Cooking profession, giving you a wider knowledge of ingredient sources, where to find them, and allowing you to preserve the plants better as you harvest them.”
Max was barely keeping his eyes open, though the topic was actually very interesting to him. He yawned despite himself, and Red shook her head. “Sleep. We’ll discuss this more tomorrow.”
*****
Red woke Max about an hour before sunrise, allowing him nearly nine hours of sleep. Feeling refreshed, Max helped break down and pack away his tent before joining Smitty and Dalia at the nearest fire for breakfast. Max was surprised when a familiar female orc approached shyly, offering a loaf of fresh-baked flatbread. Smitty blushed slightly, putting an arm around her. “Thank you, Birona. Uh, boss, this is…”
Max held up a hand and smiled at her. “We’ve met. She was kind enough to help me with my laundry at the inn. I’m surprised to see you here with us, but you are most welcome.”
She bowed her head quickly, bouncing slightly as she did so. She was wearing a set of leathers similar to Smitty’s, rather than the chambermaid outfit from the inn. Though her armor featured a plunging neckline that accentuated her cleavage. “Thank you, Chimera King. I met Smitty just moments after meeting you. He was kind to me, and helped me carry my load downstairs. We talked for much of the night after my shift was done, and, well…”
“She agreed to come with me to Stormhaven!” Smitty beamed, his tusks exposed. “We’re going to make a dozen little orc babies!” This time Birona blushed, slapping Smitty’s chest and gasping, horrified at what he’d said in the king’s presence.
“Just be sure and make an honest woman of her before you start making those babies.” Max warned, mock scorn in his voice as he did his best to scowl at Smitty.
The corporal didn’t buy it. “Roger that, boss. You can perform the ceremony yourself. Make it all official-like.”
Chapter 25
The wagon train was back on the trail and moving northward by about an hour after sunrise. The orcs were efficient, and morale was high. Most of them had been born and raised in the ruined city, and the prospect of starting a new life under a leader that didn’t rule through threats and brute force was exciting.
If they pushed hard, they might reach the waystation shortly after dark. Max wasn’t convinced there was a need, but was willing to play it by ear. Once they reached the station, the miners would peel off and head that direction, while Max and the others would dig up the loot they’d buried and load it onto the wagons. Max was contemplating spending another day in the mine, harvesting more gold and silver to take home with him.
Just past midday, as the caravan was preparing to get moving after taking a short rest for food and drink, a rider appeared in front of the lead wagon. It was a larger than average orc with a series of three red slashes tattooed across his bare chest. The moment Gr’tok spotted him, he began cursing under his breath. Lo’tang recognized him as well, and put his troops on alert, sending a rider back to warn the flanks and rear guard.
Confused, Max brought Pokey to a halt maybe fifty yards from the orc, and quietly asked Gr’tok, “What’s going on?”
“That is An’rigar, youngest brother of the war chief, and arena champion. I saw him in the city the morning we left. The fact that he’s now ahead of us means he’s here because of us. That can not be good for us.”
Max sat in his saddle, using Identify on the warrior.
An’rigar
Orc Champion
Level 30
Health: 3,400/3,400
Max raised a hand and called out to the orc. “Greetings, An’rigar. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company this fine day?”
The orc snorted, reaching over one shoulder and drawing a massive sword, the blade at least five feet in length. “The pleasure will be all mine today, toy king!” he nudged his mount forward at a slow walk as he grinned at Max.
Gr’tok called out. “We have just made peace, cousin! Are you so anxious for battle that you’d break the accords so soon?”
The orc shook his head. “Your toy king is careless, cousin.” He made the word drip with contempt. “He forced my brother to agree to peace, true. But only with Darkholm, not Stormhaven.” Grinning again, he waited for those words to sink in. Max’s heart began to thump, and his mind raced, reviewing the words that were spoken in the arena. His gut
twisted when he realized that the orc was right. He’d not obtained any accords with An’zalor on behalf of his own kingdom.
“Ah, you see? The toy king knows the truth of my words.” An’rigar continued forward. “My brother sent me to teach you a lesson, toy king. Your last lesson.” He let out a piercing whistle, and mounted orcs charged from the forest on either side of the trail.
Max cursed, drawing his bow and putting an arrow into An’rigar’s chest from thirty feet away. Then focused on the arrow, and shouted, “Boom!” Not waiting to see the result, he turned to observe the scene behind him as the orc leader exploded with a splat and a short scream. A quick count showed him twenty orcs on one side of the trail attacking his people, and a similar number on the other side. Max had them outnumbered, but they had the advantage of surprise, and of being prepared. Instead of attacking up and down the line, they hit near the front of the wagon train, specifically targeting Gr’tok’s wagon and those nearby. This meant the defenders farther down the line had to make a choice. Either charge up and help, or remain in their positions in case of further attacks. And even if they were to charge, it would take precious seconds to reach the battle.
Max fired arrow after arrow at the group to his right, knocking four of the attackers out of their saddles and striking two more. He cast Confuse on the group to his left, causing nearly half of them to slow, or stop altogether, making them easy targets for his people. He was proud to see that every one of his orcs, including the chambermaid, had taken up weapons of one sort or another and were assisting in the defense.
Turning back to An’rigar, he saw that the orc still lived. The arrow had exploded, blasting a crater in his chest. He was on his back on the trail, his wounded mount having thrown him and fled. But despite the mortal wound, the orc was struggling to rise. Max dismounted and walked to An’rigar, leading Pokey by his reins so he wouldn’t run off. Looking down at the weakly struggling orc, Max spit in his face.
“Who is learning their last lesson today, you piece of shit?” He kicked the orc in the head. “I’d send you back to your brother, but you’re going to die here, alone in the dirt, pissing yourself. And I need your head.” The orc’s eyes widened as Max put away his bow and drew the sword from his back. He tried to speak, but only coughed up blood. Max just stood there, refusing to end the warrior’s pain. He took a look over his shoulder, seeing that very few of the attackers remained. His people outnumbered them something like four to one, and only a few defenders were down. Unfortunately, one of them appeared to be one of Gr’tok’s children.
Abandoning the dying orc, Max sprinted toward Gr’tok’s wagon. As soon as he was in range, he cast a heal on the boy who was lying half under the wagon. The boy twitched, which Max took to be a good sign, until he saw that it was from the impact of an arrow that struck the young orc’s leg.
Still too far away to help, Max cast Jump on himself, appearing right next to the boy, shielding him with his own body. Almost the second he appeared, an arrow struck him in the back. Max grunted, but focused on casting another heal on the boy. His health bar had dropped to a thin sliver, but the heal raised him back to about twenty percent before it started ticking back down. The boy was bleeding badly from a stab wound in the chest. Max cast yet another heal, then turned to face the tree line where the arrows had come from. Another missile sped toward him, puncturing his shoulder and knocking him backward. He cried out in pain, and nearly landed atop the boy, which would have finished him.
A second later, three arrows sped from the caravan into the woods, and an orc staggered out of the brush, dropping his bow. Max cast Drain on him, healing himself as he pulled the arrow from his shoulder. He couldn’t reach the one in his back, so he left it alone. The archer died quickly, and a notification flashed across Max’s vision. He pushed it aside and turned back to the boy, casting a fourth heal on him. The bleeding had stopped, and the boy appeared to be out of danger for the moment.
Max used the wagon to pull himself to his feet. Looking up and down the line, he saw no more attackers still standing. There were three miners with pickaxes walking toward him, crushing or puncturing the skulls of each enemy as they passed, making very sure they were dead. The highest concentration of bodies was at Max’s feet, surrounding the commander’s wagon.
Max saw Gr’tok leaping from his mount into his wagon, and heard a roar of despair a few seconds later. Bending to lift the wounded boy, he cast one more heal as he carried him around to the tailgate. Inside the covered wagon, he found Gr’tok holding a small orc girl in his arms, hugging her to his chest. Next to him, a female orc held a hand over a wound in her gut, the other hand reaching out toward her child. Max instantly cast a heal on Gr’tok’s wife, setting the boy down inside the wagon.
With his mana low, he cast one final heal on the wife, then produced several of the health potions he’d made. They weren’t much, but they were all he had. “Drink these. Give a couple to your son. He still has an arrow in his leg.” He tossed them to the recovering mother, who didn’t even blink, staring at her daughter.
Having done all he could for the commander’s family, he began to walk down the line. He drank a mana potion, then cast a few more heals on wounded defenders. When he was out of mana, he passed out the last of the healing potions he had in his inventory. They were barely enough to stop the bleeding for most wounds, but they were all he had.
He spotted Dalia and Smitty working their way toward him, Dalia stopping to heal each wounded orc she found, Smitty covering her back. Max stopped walking, each step he took causing the arrow in his back to grind against his scapula. He took a knee and waited for them to arrive, watching Dalia drink a mana potion and hand out health potions herself.
When they got close enough, Max said “We need to train a lot more healers.”
Smitty snorted, and Dalia just nodded her head tiredly. Smitty reported, “Don’t know about behind you, but back this way we’ve got four dead. Two civilians, one of the guards from the arena, and one miner.”
Max nodded. “They rushed Gr’tok’s wagon, killed his daughter. Very nearly got his wife and son, too.” He turned back to face the lead wagon, indicating the pile of enemy bodies.
When Dalia spotted the arrow in his back, her eyes widened.
“Were ye plannin’ on takin’ care o’ that? Or just gonna leave it there fer decoration?”
Max smiled sadly at her. “Can’t reach it. Doesn’t hurt that bad. You think it looks good on me?” Neither Dalia nor Smitty blinked at the gallows humor. Soldiers quickly learned that sometimes a little levity was the only way to deal with senseless loss, or hopeless odds.
Smitty took hold of the arrow. “It’s not deep enough to push through, and its right up against your shoulder blade. Gotta pull it out, boss. This is gonna suck.”
Max nodded. “Wait until Dalia has some more mana. Rather not lose any more blood than necessary. We don’t know if there are more of them out there.”
They stood listening to the cries of small orc children, the curses of warriors, and the crunch of enemy skulls for a few minutes while Dalia recovered. When she nodded to Smitty, Max gritted his teeth and the corporal mercilessly tore the arrow free. Dalia instantly cast a heal, and Max panted for a bit, blinking away the pain.
“Come on, boss. You’re good. Rub some dirt on it, and let’s go.” Smitty patted him on the shoulder, causing Max to wince even though he felt very little pain.
Deciding to leave Gr’tok to his pain for a while, Max drew his knife and began looting, collecting orc ears as he went. Smitty drew his knife and moved to the other side of the wagon train, working his way along and collecting ears as well. They met at the back of the train, the orcs silently watching both Battleborne perform their grisly tasks. The orc sergeant leading the rear contingent dropped off his mount and bowed his head.
“I am sorry, Chimera King. I chose to keep my warriors here, holding my post in case of an attack from the rear.”
“You did as you should have
, as you were ordered.” Max put a hand on the orc’s shoulder. “It was the right call.” Max looked from the orc to Smitty and back. “Now I want six mounted men with bows on each side of the trail. Spread out in pairs and hunt down any stragglers out there in the woods.” His voice lowered to a growl. “No one gets away to deliver a report. Let the war leader wonder what happened to his brother for a few days.”
Both orcs saluted with fist to chest, and Smitty handed over his bag of ears before dashing off to find his mount.
Max walked back toward the front, speaking quietly to his people, comforting them and praising them for their courage. By the time he reached Gr’tok’s wagon, the commander was standing over his cousin’s body. A quick check in the wagon showed Gr’tok’s wife and son were alive and well, her still holding their daughter’s body.
Approaching Gr’tok, Max mumbled, “I am sorry, my friend.”
“You saved my son.” Gr’tok turned and bowed his head. “Thank you, sire.” Max felt a twinge of guilt. If he hadn’t wasted time taunting An’rigar, he might have saved the little girl, as well.
“No, I do not deserve your thanks. I am the fool who neglected to include his own kingdom in the peace agreement. I allowed this to happen.”
Gr’tok shook his head, gesturing toward An’rigar. “Those words were just my cousin’s petty attempt to hurt you, sire. This attack was about me, my perceived betrayal of a war leader without honor. The attack would have come whether Stormhaven was included, or not. This way, my cousin gets to exact a measure of revenge without violating the new accords with Darkholm, while at the same time pushing them to break the peace he never wanted in the first place. As your close ally, they will be honor bound to answer this affront. My cousin will get his war restored.”
Battleborne Page 40
