Overworld (Dragon Mage Saga Book 1): A fantasy post-apocalyptic story

by Rohan M Vider

  Given the space to think, I considered the circumstances that had brought me here. Where were the loggers? Where were Tara, Michael, and the rest of the spearmen?

  They couldn’t be far away, could they?

  I wondered if I should abandon my position and go in search of the Outpost company. But on the move, I suspected I would be more vulnerable. And perhaps that was what the beasts waited for: for me to expose myself.

  “Help!” I shouted. “Is anyone there?” If I was stuck waiting here, I decided there was no harm in trying to attract attention to my position. Maybe someone would hear me. My voice echoed startlingly loud through the forest silence, but there was no answering cry.

  A hound blinked before me, perhaps spurred by my cry and hoping to take advantage of my distraction. But I had been expecting the move.

  I cast flare, and it blinked away.

  “Damn it,” I snarled as the creature escaped my flames unscathed.

  Another materialised to my left. I flared, and missed again as it blinked away.

  A third repeated the manoeuvre on the right. Predictably, I failed to hit it.

  I ground my teeth in frustration. “Goddamn dogs,” I swore. The pack was testing me. The pit of my stomach dropped as another, more unpleasant thought, occurred.

  Or they are draining my mana? Just how cunning are these beasts?

  A fourth blinked in. I waited. The hound tilted its head quizzically at me, its wintery grey eyes boring into me. Then it blinked away.

  A second later, a shape hurtled down from the tree above. I flung up my right arm and cast flare.

  With a yelp, the hound blinked out just before its weight could touch down on me. This time I recognised the beast. The scorch marks on its muzzle marked it as my first attacker.

  So there appear to only be the four, I thought, hope rising at the possibility. I was not as overmatched as I feared.

  The pack went back to circling. But not for long.

  A beast blinked into being on my right and barrelled towards me. I cast flare, but this time the creature only ducked its head and, with a low growl, kept coming.

  Another beast materialised on the left. With my other hand, I cast flare directly into it. It, too, was undaunted. The pack was changing its tactics again.

  Just as the first two clamped their jaws onto my flaring hands, the third beast dropped down from the trees and the fourth appeared at my feet.

  They were trying to overwhelm me, and this time flare was not scaring them off. The fourth hound dove for my throat.

  Reacting faster than thought, I activated invincible.

  The hound bounced off. A bloodthirsty grin spread across my face. The tables had turned. I flared harder, pouring flames out of my hands.

  Now I’ve got you, doggies. All four beasts were trapped in the blazing inferno. Flames boiled off me and licked at the pack clinging to me. Fur was singed, skin melted, and paws charred.

  Then the hound on my left blinked away. It was followed a moment later by the one my chest. Dread curled within me.

  They were retreating again.

  I couldn’t let them all escape. I had to kill at least a couple of them while invincible lasted.

  I flung myself sideways and grappled the hound chewing on my right arm. Wrapping my arms around it, I held on for dear life.

  The beast at my feet disappeared.

  But the one I clung onto, whether because of the pain from the dragonfire spewing into it, or because I had wrapped myself around its torso, stayed put. Pouring all my fear and rage into the beast, I flared until it collapsed into a smoking heap.

  Then I lurched to my feet and ran.

  ✽✽✽

  I didn’t get far.

  My crippled foot, not to mention the pack’s ability to teleport, made escape impossible. I wasn’t trying to outrun them though—not exactly. I was hoping instead to find the loggers’ trail. I had lost sight of it during the initial attack. If I found it, I could cautiously withdraw their way.

  But whether the direction I searched in was the wrong one, or I simply failed to see the path, the clock on invincible ran down without me finding the loggers’ tracks.

  With my chest heaving and hands on my knees, I drew to a halt to consider my options. Fleeing without the protection of invincible was risky. The hounds could strike at any time.

  On the heels of that thought, three pools of darkness slipped into my magesight.

  They were back.

  Can the beasts sense my spells? I wondered. The timing of their return was just too coincidental otherwise. Damn, if these dogs aren’t smarter than the murluks.

  Continuing the search for the loggers’ trail was no longer an option. Forced to admit defeat, I planted my back against another tree. At least, I had bettered my odds of survival. But even with one of their number dead already, the pack showed no sign of abandoning their hunt.

  With a weary sigh, I settled myself to keep watch and prepare for the next attack.

  Chapter 32

  388 days until the Arkon Shield falls

  It didn’t take the pack long to resume their assault.

  They were more wary, but no less persistent. The three hounds, scorched and scarred from dragonfire, blinked in, tested me with feinting attacks, and then jumped out again.

  They did this often enough that I lost count of the number of assaults I fended off. Each time, the pack would inch closer and closer, until I was forced to flare. Then they would flee. And more often than not, the beasts managed to dodge the flames.

  Every so often they returned to circling me before trying to bait me again. There was no pattern to the pack’s assaults. They attacked at random intervals and kept me on edge.

  The pack’s strategy was obvious: they were attempting to wear me down. But even though I knew what the beasts played at, I was helpless to stop them.

  Inevitably, I knew I would lose. I tried casting flare as little as possible to conserve my stamina and mana, but I had no illusions that the pack would triumph eventually.

  During one of their many feinting attacks, I took the opportunity to analyse the creatures.

  The target is a level 32 phase hound. It has meagre Magic, is gifted with Might, is gifted with Resilience, and has no Craft.

  The results told me little I didn’t already know, nor it did give me any clue how to overcome them. My best hope, I decided, was to hold out until the Outpost company found me.

  Even though I had lost the loggers’ trail, I knew I couldn’t have strayed too far from their path. Staying put, I kept calling out once every five minutes. Someone had to hear me eventually.

  But as the day waned, and morning turned to afternoon, and afternoon to twilight, I began to lose hope that I would be rescued. The phase hounds were tireless, and I feared they would take our stand-off into the night. Once darkness concealed their attacks, the end would come quickly.

  I stared up at the light of the setting sun filtering through the trees. My time was almost up. I’ve waited long enough, I decided. No rescue is coming. If I was going to survive past the night, it would be up to me to change my fate.

  For the umpteenth time, I took stock of my resources. I needed a way to bring my magic to bear, a way to hurt the creatures while they hung teasingly out of my flare’s range. But I had been wracking my brains for a way to do that the whole day and had yet to come up with a workable plan.

  I glanced at the knife sheathed at my hip. It was the only weapon I had, yet it was useless. Perhaps, if I threw it… Bah! That would only lose me my knife. If only I had a spear, though—

  I paused. “A spear,” I mused. My gaze flickered from my knife to two nearby saplings. I don’t have a spear, but perhaps I can make one.

  Cautiously, I edged away from the tree guarding my back to the nearer of the two saplings and ran my hand along its length. It was thin enough; I judged that I could saw through its base, or maybe uproot it entirely.
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  With one eye on the circling pools of darkness in my magesight, I yanked at the sapling. It came free easily. Working quickly, I trimmed off its branches.

  When I was done, I had a nine-foot-long pole. But while my new weapon was a goodly length, its wood was too green and wiry. It had none of the firmness I needed from a spear.

  I grimaced. It’s a damn sight better than nothing, Jamie. Limping to the next sapling, I repeated my feat.

  Then with my two ‘spears’ at my side, I sat with my back braced against a nearby tree while I waited for the next attack.

  ✽✽✽

  It wasn’t long in coming.

  A phase hound blinked into being five yards in front of me. The beasts had learned the limit of my flare range and were careful to always appear outside it.

  I looked up from the ‘spear’ end I had been sharpening with my knife. “Well, dog, it’s about time you fellows showed up,” I murmured.

  The hound pricked it ears forward at the sound of my voice, but it didn’t otherwise move from its predatory crouch.

  In no hurry, I hefted one of the saplings and climbed to my feet. By this point, my encounters with the pack had developed a rhythm of their own. I knew the hound facing off against me wouldn’t attack until one of its fellows showed up.

  Ignoring the beast in front of me, I watched my flanks. It was the pack’s favoured tactic. Invariably, it was the purpose of the one in front to hold my attention while one of the others, attempting to catch me off guard, rushed in from the left and right.

  The tactic had yet to work, though the pack seemed committed to it. Thankfully the hounds had not tried rushing me all at once again. If they did that, I knew I wouldn’t survive. But it seemed that I had instilled enough fear in the creatures during their first failed attempt that they were too wary to repeat the tactic.

  A second phase hound blinked in on my right. Watching it through narrowed eyes, I raised the sapling spear in readiness. Would it pounce forward this time, or edge nearer?

  The beast padded closer and stopped three yards away, just outside flare range. I lowered the sapling in my arms. Its nine-foot length was unwieldly, but with some difficulty I managed to keep it pointed at my target.

  The hound kept its gaze fixed on me, its eyes not even straying the sapling’s way.

  I smiled grimly. Good. Stepping away from the tree, I lunged forward with the spear.

  The hound made no attempt to dodge. Its only reaction was a surprised flick of its ears.

  My spear tip struck the hound’s chest dead centre, but instead of piercing the creature, the sapling bent on impact. Aaargh, I screamed in silent frustration. The hound’s coat had not been so much as scratched by my ‘weapon.’

  The beast looked down at the stick poking into its chest. Its mouth opened and its tongue lolled out.

  The bloody thing is laughing at me, I thought in amazement.

  Then the hound bounded forward.

  Letting the spear sag, I removed my left hand from it and cast flare at the leaping beast. But I struck only air as the beast blinked out.

  The second hound, who had been waiting patiently all along, rushed in. I swung flare its way and it blinked away.

  The third hound appeared on my left. It didn’t attack. Lying down on all fours, it watched me insolently from well outside of flare’s range.

  Snarling in frustration, I stopped casting flare. I tired of the pack’s games. I knew the one on my left was waiting for me to turn my dragonfire its way so that it could blink away. I didn’t want to give it that satisfaction.

  Instead, I hefted the sapling again and charged the hound. As I thrust the sapling forward, I cast flare.

  It was an act born more from thwarted anger than anything else. At best, I hoped to catch the hound by surprise and to close with the creature while it was distracted.

  But as I sent dragonfire rippling from my hands and into the sapling, I felt the spellform in my mind change to something else, seemingly of its own volition. My eyes widened in shock. My magic had never behaved this way before. Caught off guard, I didn’t resist as the spellform shifted shape and expanded outwards into the sapling.

  Dragonfire raced along the wood’s length, and then to the astonishment of both the hound and myself, a bar of liquid gold leapt out of the spear’s tip and struck the creature.

  The hound howled as the searing beam of dragonfire plunged into its chest. I stumbled to a halt, too stunned to take advantage of the creature’s momentary confusion.

  A second later the hound blinked out, though I barely noticed. An avalanche of text clouded my vision.

  You have spellcrafted a: ranged spell, from the Discipline of: dragon magic. The name assigned to this spell is: fire ray. Fire ray is a single-cast spell that must be invoked with the aid of a Focus. Its casting time is: very fast and its rank is: uncommon.

  You are the first player to have spellcrafted the dragon spell: fire ray. For this achievement, you have been awarded: dragon lore and four Marks.

  Lore note: Fire ray is an uncommon dragon magic spell. It produces a single beam of dragonfire that is powered by the caster’s health, mana, and stamina.

  Simple touch-based spells are not fully realised in the world and only exist while their spellforms remain connected to their caster’s mana pool.

  Projectile spells are different, and ordinarily are too complex to be cast by novice mages. Their spellforms must be tied-off so that the spell can exist even when disconnected from the caster.

  The fire ray is not a true projectile spell, but a variant of a touch-based spell that is transformed into a ranged attack with the aid of a Focus—usually a wizard’s staff.

  You have cast fire ray through an unattuned Focus. A redwood tree sapling has died.

  The Trials messages took my breath away. Belatedly, I realised that the spellform my flare spell had morphed into was the one I had been practicing last night. The same one that failed time and again.

  “A wizard’s staff,” I muttered. That’s what I had been missing all along. But what is a Focus? I hadn’t come across the term before.

  I looked at the sapling in my hand. The wood was charred, turned lifeless by the forces it had channelled. Yet, given the dragonfire that rippled through its core, the sapling remaining surprisingly whole. I ran my hand down its length. The wood had dried up. There was no give through its length at all, and the tip had hardened nicely. It will make a much better weapon now, I thought.

  I turned my gaze outwards and scanned the surroundings. The hounds had retreated into the shadows once more. They weren’t gone though. Like me, they were probably contemplating what my latest display of magic boded for our contest.

  Certain I remained secure—if only temporarily—I cast analyse on the weapon in my hand.

  The target is a burnt redwood staff. This weapon has no special properties and is unattuned.

  So the Trials considered the weapon in my hand a staff, not a spear. I wondered at the repeated reference to attunement. I knew what it meant to attune my mana. But what did it mean to attune a weapon?

  Unfortunately, since I’d never suspected I’d have magic, I hadn’t delved much into the subject of the wizardly arts in the Trials Infopedia. Now, I felt caught out by my ignorance. I would have to find a way to fill the gaps in my understanding. If I survive today, of course.

  I recalled that when I had cast fire ray earlier, its spellform had extended from my mind into the staff, almost as if the sapling had been part of the spell. Tentatively, I tried to channel mana through the staff, but the weaves refused to enter the wood.

  I frowned, but before I could experiment further, the three hounds blinked into existence and formed a half-circle five yards around me.

  I dropped into a crouch and stared at the beasts. This was a new tactic. Lowering the staff, I held it horizontally like one would a spear.

  The beasts shied away from wherever the staff pointed, cle
arly fearful more dragonfire might erupt from it.

  It gave me hope.

  Calling upon the spellform of fire ray, I attempted to extend it through the staff, but once more the weaves refused my command.

  Your spell has fizzled. Magic can only be channelled through living objects.

  I stared at the Trials alert in frustration. It did not bode well. Warily, I bent down, dropped the burned staff, and picked up the second sapling in its stead. If I interpreted the message correctly, I would manage only a single cast through it.

  But hopefully the hounds didn’t know that.

  My movements triggered a response from the pack. In sync, they padded forward. Were they going to try overwhelming me again?

  I couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Tightening my grip on the unburned sapling, I pointed it at the hound on the far left and cast fire ray.

  A line of dragonfire leapt across intervening space. The beast tried to sidestep the burning ray, but at this distance it was impossible to miss, and my beam struck the hound squarely in the muzzle.

  The hound yelped and blinked out. The other two chose that moment to pounce.

  Half-expecting the move, I was ready. I planted the rear end of my now-burnt staff into the ground and angled the sharpened end at the closest hound.

  The beast realised the danger too late. Before it could teleport away, the hound’s own momentum drove the hardened spear tip through its torso.

  Your skill with staffs has advanced to: level 1.

  I dropped the staff, not caring if the hound blinked away. Since it was skewered, it was no threat. Spinning around, I prepared to fend off the third and last hound.

  But I was too slow.

  The beast, a half-seen blur, crashed into my side and sent me sprawling away. In a fury of tooth and claw, the hound rushed back at me. I rolled and narrowly escaped its snapping jaws.

  The first hound rejoined the fray. Teleporting onto me, it pinned me down. I threw up my hands and shielded my neck and face. But that did little to protect me as the hound only shifted its attack lower.