“I don’t need to grab one of them to know where they’re going,” Delvin says while collecting sticks and rocks. Making a quick diagram of the camp and using a pine cone for where they left the others, he scratches his head in thought. “We have a bunch of options. They aren’t going to move very quickly, so we can send Fizzle to Gaia with a warning. Not my favorite plan since it means everyone between here and the city are left in danger. Maybe we can destroy them in the morning and go back to our own path afterwards. Dariana says we have to reach the mountains, so it shouldn’t be too far out of our way.”
“Unfortunately, you are forgetting an important fact that puts us at great risk,” Timoran states before making a furrow in the ground. Shouts from the bandits cause him to freeze until he is sure that they have not been discovered. “As I mentioned over dinner, it appears we have made it further north than we expected thanks to your efforts. If my own memory is right then the mountain pass we need starts on the other side of this camp. There is no way to avoid them and we cannot afford injuries, which I fear would be inevitable in such a battle. Do you think it is possible that the bandits are here to stop us?”
The brown-haired warrior sneaks to the top of the hill and lets his eyes roll back as he tries to filter through the collection of auras before him. “Nyx makes this seem so easy. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I can tell that there are enemies with powerful magic. My guess is shamans, who could be in contact with the Baron. It does seem like too much of a coincidence that this is directly in our path. Nyx could finish this on her own and then rest while we pass through the mountains. As long as the shamans aren’t very strong and there isn’t anything worse down there.”
Returning to his simple map, Delvin draws his sword and traces various paths through the dirt. Scratching his head, he considers going around and sprinting for the narrow pass before daylight. With half of the night remaining, he knows it is their best chance of continuing without being noticed, but the thought of challenging the mountains in the dark does not sit well with him. Dariana’s assurances that the narrow path opens up after two miles is only a small comfort if they are chased by the bandits. He knows for experience that every step is a challenge when you are on the defensive against superior numbers. It would not take much for the champions to be overrun and forced into a battle that could weaken them before reaching Shayd. With a muttered curse, he knocks over the stones and twigs with his foot.
“Dariana may be able to mask us from their senses,” Timoran suggests, his nose twitching from the stench of burning dryad. He can hear distant footsteps heading for the camp and gets closer to the ground to avoid being seen. “True, there is the chance that the shamans can put up a fight, especially if they are getting power from the Baron. Yet, I do not see many other options unless we wait to see if they move on at dawn. That is the only way to tell if they have been sent to defeat us or merely stopped here by chance.”
“And that leaves thousands of innocent people in danger,” Delvin replies, the words sticking in his throat. Other plans come to mind, each one having flaws that he weighs against the urgency of their journey. “I think we’re being too impatient. The champions are supposed to defeat the Baron, but not by ignoring the suffering of others. People will die if we leave this army behind, so we need a plan of attack. Wish I knew how many bandits are down there and the specifics of their forces”
“Wouldn’t matter because more are coming in every few minutes,” a voice whispers from above. Luke drops out of the trees and lands between his friends, the half-elf making no attempt to hide. “I saw you two leave and came along as backup. Neither of you have any idea of how many bandits and thieves have already gone by you. Waiting for morning could make things worse, so I say the three of us take care of it now.”
Delvin and Timoran exchange worried glances before the barbarian inquires, “How do you propose three warriors take on an army? Preferably without injury or death.”
“It’s fairly simple if you stop holding back,” the half-elf explains, drawing his sabers. He is about to rush to the top of the hill, but is stopped by his friends moving in his path. “Fine, I’ll talk first. Delvin can protect and heal us with his powers while fighting on the outskirts. Timoran can use the Ring of Aintaranurh to destroy the tents, carts, bonfires, and anything bigger than an orc. The bulk of the fighting can be handled by me in griffin form by spiral diving all over the place. If I move quick enough then those idiots will think they have an entire flock to deal with and retreat.”
“They have shamans too,” Delvin points out while licking his lips. Already frustrated with the forest tracker, the sigh of exasperation he receives nearly breaks his calm façade. “You want to know why I don’t like that plan? It puts Timoran at risk even with my powers at work because I can’t heal and protect what I can’t see. This could also drain me to the point where I won’t be much help in Shayd. The only person who remains safe is you unless the shamans can overpower your spirits.”
“Then, I’ll change into the Sword Dragon.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Like they can stand up to that monster.”
“Timoran and I would be killed too since you can’t control it.”
“Fine, I’ll do this myself.”
Delvin quickly moves to stop Luke, who is about to rush up the hill and charge at the bandits. Before the two get in a fight, Timoran grabs each one by the face and silently drags them further into the forest. Gently placing his friends on their feet, the barbarian keeps a strong hold on their shoulders until they relax. The moment he lets go, Luke tries to sprint back to the hill only to get yanked back after a few steps. To his surprise, Timoran finds it easy to stay in the half-elf’s path and stop his repeated attempts to escape. He notices that Delvin is equally concerned, especially when their friend makes a feint, spins, and trips himself. Luke lands with an embarrassing splat, his face getting covered in mud and leaves.
“That’s another reason we don’t want to do this,” Delvin says while helping the forest tracker. Handing his seething companion the small towel on his belt, he heads for a tree to check a series of suspicious marks. “You aren’t at full strength, Luke, and something like this could get you killed. I have no idea what’s wrong with you, but I’m not going to help you self-destruct or whatever you want to call this.”
“The only things getting destroyed here are those bandits,” Luke snaps, his body starting to grow black fur. The transformation into Stiletto abruptly stops and he is left hacking and coughing on his knees. “He’s just being difficult. The others are more than willing to work with me. Go back to camp and let me handle this alone. If the Sword Dragon goes berserk then Dariana can stop him again. This way Delvin doesn’t have to come up with a plan that falls apart and leaves him feeling guilty. I mean, our strategies are all about you proving you’re smarter and more caring than the rest of us, right?”
“You’re pushing your luck, Callindor,” the former mercenary growls as his hand goes to his sword. With a sputtering breath, he relaxes and lets his arm hang limp, but his fingers repeatedly tap at his weapon’s hilt. “As much as I want to let you do whatever you want, we need you to fight the Baron. No telling what will happen if we show up one champion short. So, I’m going to ask nicely that you let this go and help us come up with a plan that isn’t suicidal. You can go back to being an insensitive, childish, irritating louse once we get to Xan’s island. At least tell me that you realize you’re weakened and keep falling down.”
Crossing his arms and leaning against a tree, Luke stares at the cloudy sky to find that it is beginning to snow. “You sound stupid, Cunningham. I’d be more surprised if I was at full strength after everything I went through. All I need is to get into a fight and that should make me all better. It’s like coming back from a broken arm. The limb remains weak until you get it back into shape. I’m only making up an extreme version of reconditioning.”
“One that could see you trip and fa
ll chest first into a sword,” Delvin groans, taking some comfort in the fact that Luke is not reaching for his blades. Hearing a chorus of cheers from the camp, the warrior cracks his knuckles and kicks at a rock in frustration. “We have to do this as a team. There are simply too many for us to handle alone. So, let’s go back to our camp and wake everyone up. Maybe they’ll have a plan that we didn’t think of. What do you think, Timoran, since you’ve been quiet for a while?”
“I think we should avoid sudden movements and not draw our weapons,” the barbarian replies, keeping his hands in the open. Turning in a circle, he draws his friends’ attention to the figures who have surrounded the champions. “Whoever they are, I did not hear them until they were nearly upon us. They have been listening to us for the last few minutes. My apologies for not mentioning this sooner, but I did not want to cause a scene. The good news is that I do not believe they mean us any harm.”
“That is correct and we already have your-” an elderly orc says as he steps out from behind Luke.
Startled by the unarmed stranger, the half-elf draws his sabers and whirls around to deliver a killing blow. His blades are an inch from the orc by the time Timoran closes the short distance and bops his friend on the head with his fist. Luke sputters as his eyes roll back and he crashes to the ground, his swords still tightly clutched in his hands. The barbarian picks up the unconscious forest tracker and bows his head to the confused elder. Protective of their leader, the other orcs have already stepped into the open with their weapons aimed at the champions. Everyone stops when Delvin lets out a long sigh and rubs his eyes, the tired warrior coming off as thoroughly embarrassment instead of angry.
“I figured it was my turn,” Timoran states with a grin. Not getting the laughter that he had hoped for, he shrugs and puts Luke over his shoulder. “There has been some recent trouble with our friend. I promise that I will watch over him. Though, I am unclear what is going on except that you are not with the bandits.”
A towering orc steps out of the circle and holds up his gloved hand, which is emblazoned with the symbol of an eight-tusked maw. “The Growk Council welcomes the champions to its territory and asks that you come with us. There is much we need to discuss unless you prefer to charge to your deaths. Nothing is as it seems with these bandits, so I hope that you accept the offer of help that your three friends have already taken.”
“Lead the way, sir,” Delvin excitedly replies, grabbing the orc’s hand for a shake. He is impressed by how the warriors move in unison, his curiosity increasing when a few walk through some of the trees. “Far be it for me to refuse help and information, but I have a question. We’ll be back on the road before dawn, right?”
“Only if you are tired of living,” the tusked warrior says with a grin. Tasting a drifting snowflake, his loud breathing stutters and he spits at his feet. “We must reach the haven before the full storm hits. Don’t worry. The weather is on our side and will make sure we are not followed. We have been told that it will keep the bandits in place as well. Please stay close or you may find something worse than death. The world is no longer safe for people such as yourselves.”
Unsure of how to respond, the nervous adventurers fall in line behind the armored warrior and the elder. The orc leaders remain within reach of each other in order to communicate through small grunts and subtle movements of their ears. As they move away from the bandits, the champions notice that the armed guards are becoming fewer and fewer. Within minutes, there is nobody else in the forest besides them and their two guides.
4
Sitting on a line of wooden benches, the champions are unsure of what they are watching or if they are allowed to speak. The wiry orc in animal skins dances around the large cauldron, his long staff repeatedly dipping into the bubbling liquid. Most of his teeth are yellow, but his tusks are a beautiful ivory that matches the fresh snow on the ground. He tosses herbs and pieces of meat into the concoction while singing in a language that is not entirely Orcish. His thirty companions continue going about their business, which is nothing more than wandering the clearing. They only return to hand the shaman more ingredients or report to the towering warrior who is meditating under a pine tree. Backflipping off the cauldron’s rim, the old orc plunges his free hand into the flames and lifts the heated cauldron above his head. He holds it within a beam of moonlight, his flesh unaffected by the hot metal. All of the orcs become silent and gather around as their commander rises to his feet without opening his eyes. Once he is satisfied that his display is done, the white-haired shaman puts the cauldron back on the flames and tosses a large, clattering bag to his nearest companion.
“Dinner is ready, so please serve our guests first,” he happily says, handing his spoon-like staff to the chuckling warrior. Grabbing a one-legged stool, he makes himself comfortable in front of the champions. “It is a special soup that will keep you warm and make sure you receive pleasant dreams. Since you are finally awake, I thank you for not killing me, young man. That would have made things uncomfortable. Now, my name is . . . we have mostly human blood here, so I should call myself something from that culture. Jeremy is a nice name. Please call me Jeremy and welcome to the Band of Veryak.”
“The Band of Veryak?” Delvin repeats while accepting a bowl of soup. He hands it down the line, his eyes never straying from the bowing shaman. “I remember hearing stories about you guys. Nothing substantial though. You’re a special military force that works for the Growk Council, but only when the need is high. I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means that we are willing to help you get through that bandit camp since we are going in that direction,” Jeremy casually states, his hazel eyes drifting to Dariana. The orc chuckles at the way she sips at her meal and stares at her feet. “I apologize for any discomfort that our presence brings to you, godling. To avoid any issues or accidents, you may want to stay closer to Captain Yulkus. He isn’t the friendliest person in the world, but he gives off a soothing aura for people like you.”
“Thank you, but I only need a few moments to adjust,” the telepath claims, her hand visibly shaking as she eats. The mild magic in the soup helps to steady her nerves and allows her to look around without worry. “I apologize if I am being too blunt or ruining your fun, but I want to make sure I understand the situation. You and Yulkus are the only living beings here. The others are summoned spirits given solid form by your mere presence.”
With a wild whoop, the Jeremy spins on his seat and raises his hands to lift the unsuspecting ghosts into the air. They all groan at the disruption of their dinner, which threatens to slosh out of their bowls. A few continue eating since they are not upside down, but the rest are forced to wait until their leader is done having fun. It is only when Yulkus clears his throat and points at the struggling spirits that the shaman settles down. Jogging to the bubbling cauldron, he adds a pinch of dark green powder, which creates a bitter smell that the ghosts find pleasant and intoxicating. Lowering them to the ground, he returns to the champions and immediately points a finger in Luke’s face. The half-elf snarls and is about to bite with dog-like teeth when Sari gently elbows him in the side, which earns her a cookie from their host.
“I do what he does, but with other people and there isn’t always a physical transformation involved,” Jeremy explains while reaching out to Fizzle. Offering an apple, he runs his hand down the drite’s back and gathers a few old scales that are about to be shed. “These can be used to make a great meditation tea and each one has fifty uses. Now, the Band of Veryak is a special force that enhances the Growk Council’s main army when it is deemed necessary. These thirty souls and any others who join during our march will be placed into our weakest warriors. After all, there is no reason to waste my power on those who are already strong. Every orc soldier has been trained to accept a spirit and use their abilities on the battlefield. Some are unable to do it very well, but we make do. The Growk Council feels that the return of Baron Arthuru Kernaghan is worthy of our inclusion. Consi
dering the voices that I hear upon the wind, I have to agree and pray we can be of help.”
“The Baron can control the dead better than every necrocaster in history,” Luke points out, a shiver running along his spine. Finishing his meal, he is about to leave when a female orc hurries over to refill his bowl. “How do you know he won’t find a way to control the soldiers your spirits possess? That means we might have to kill innocent people or risk getting killed ourselves. It might be best to stay out of this.”
“Did he ever control your spirits?” Nyx asks from the far end of the bench. Putting down her bowl, she watches the orcs return to their patrols with their energizing meals. “Shamanism is entirely different than necromancy and the type of summoning done by casters. There’s a bond between the shaman and the spirit, which is closer to friendship than a master and servant connection. The Baron would need to usurp the willpower of both sides, but that is more likely to sever the connection. Unless he dominates the spirit, which would leave him exposed to the shaman. I don’t think he would take such a risk.”
“You are both correct,” Jeremy announces with glee. Spinning off his stool, he reclaims his staff and licks the remaining soup off the end. “The young man is right that the Baron could have the power to take over possessed soldiers. He is a force greater than anything we have ever faced, which means the rules that the young lady speaks of might not apply. Yet, my friends and I still want to help you on behalf of the Growk Council. That is why we are enjoying this delicious soup and talking. For this is how my magic can help you continue on your path in relative safety.”
Warlord of the Forgotten Age Page 7
