“My pleasure,” the mystic said.
* * *
The tribal Drakaran watched as their fearless leader fought bravely. The entire tribal Drakaran army made a cooing sound as they slammed their spears into the floor in a rhythm that shook the floor and gave their leader encouragement.
Although Chieftain Zulu landed a few skillful blows, the battle quickly turned in favor of the Commander. Voltross landed another blow and then a vicious slice across Zulu’s hamstring.
This time, despite his tendency to maintain calm, Zulu screamed in pain. The next blow cleaved through his neck. The suddenness with which it ended was startling.
There was a moment of silence. The spears held still. The Drakaran warriors waited.
Then the two sides charged each other and the battle
commenced. Commander Voltross cleared a wide path with his flaming sword and magic bursts. He no longer restrained himself to merely swordplay. With his powers unleashed, the dead tribal Drakaran began to pile up.
By the time this force was defeated, Voltross wagered that the forces outside of the city walls would be crushed as well. With the council dead, he could maintain order and declare himself ruler. No one would dare contest him. At least not openly.
Although he killed many of them, there were still over a thousand of these primitive Drakaran remaining. The wall of spears made it difficult to get close enough for a kill. They were a feisty bunch. It would be a shame to waste so many warriors that could help take even more worlds.
No matter. There were still hundreds of thousands of troops remaining. The Drakaran would not be defeated.
* * *
Lance erected an energy shield just in time. The Drakaran mystic’s blast nearly knocked him back into the wall with its force, even with the shield’s presence. The Drakaran council had chosen one of the more powerful mystics to guard them. They were cowards, quivering behind the table. The only thing standing in Lance’s way from fulfilling the prophecy was this mystic.
“You are strong for a human,” the mystic noted. He attacked again and again, leaving Lance with no time to do anything but defend. Lance once again found himself wishing his training back in Delvin was completed. The mystics, especially this one, were well-trained, experienced, and powerful.
Lance’s energy shield suddenly crackled loudly and snapped in two. As it fell, it fizzled and evaporated into the air. Lance gulped.
A lightning bolt slammed into Lance’s chest propelling him backward. He opened his mouth to scream as he flew through the air, but no sound came out. It felt like someone hammered a dozen nails through his chest.
When he landed with a thud, Lance looked down at his chest and gasped. A gaping hole went through his robe, cut through his skin and dug a veritable tunnel through the right side of his chest. Smoke rose from the wound as blood began to pour out.
Instead of panicking, a sense of calm washed over Lance. Somehow he knew what to do, a voice within him guided his motions. He raised his hand to his chest and flames licked from his fingertips, cauterizing the wound. It would keep him alive, but would have to be dealt with soon.
Another lightning bolt came at him and this time Lance was able to raise another shield. The lightning slammed against the energy shield and threatened to break it. Lance focused and the shield held.
He took out a tube and swallowed many more silver flakes. He was going to need the extra energy source. The familiar sense of power flowed through his veins, but this time his chest flared with pain as if the blood flow was pressing against the cauterized hole, threatening to tear right through the thin veil of skin now covering it.
The mystic was forced to put up a shield of his own as Lance surged forward, hobbling on his bad leg as a thin jet of flame erupted from his hands. The mystic’s eyes widened in surprise, the force of Lance’s attacks so strong that the mystic’s shield was starting to melt from the intense heat and pressure.
The mystic put all of his power behind the shield, but Lance’s raw power was too much. The jet of fire burrowed a hole through the shield and slammed into the mystic. The shield fell down and the mystic collapsed to the floor, a hole burnt into his chest. Lance could barely make out the last word from the mystic of, “How?”
Lance turned toward the cowering Drakaran Council, their red eyes rightfully afraid.
“The war ends now,”’ he told them.
* * *
Charlotte had to make a split decision. She decided to shield the group of knights from the charging wolves, and although the shields successfully stopped the initial attack, a wolf rammed into her, sending her flying through the air. She was unconscious before she hit the ground, her last thoughts wondering how Lance was faring against the Drakaran council and Commander Voltross.
Master Porthos knew how much Charlotte meant to Lance, and since this whole thing depended on Lance killing the leaders and helping return the army back home, it was the least he could do to watch over her. He saw her hit and ran to her side, bending down and picking her up. He was terribly out of shape and overweight, but the adrenaline of the battle kept him moving.
With Charlotte slung over his shoulder, Master Porthos ran through the battle and made his way to the supply wagons. He placed her as gently and quickly as he could manage into the back of one of the wagons, covered her with a blanket, and made his way back to the fighting.
Meanwhile, General Kirn stumbled. Although he killed more than his fair share of Drakaran, he had paid a heavy price. His sword arm grew tired and his body felt like taking a week long nap. There were more than a dozen cuts along his body, the loss of blood making his movements sloppier and his reaction time slower.
It was then that dozens of horns, magically enhanced to enable sound to travel further and louder, sounded from behind.
Kirn glanced up to see over a hundred thousand Drakaran warriors and mystics charging across the field toward them. The battle was lost. There were too many of them.
Chapter 12
Lance wiped his sweaty palms on his green robes, peering as he did so at the dead bodies of the Drakaran council. He was surprised by how calm he was despite dead bodies lying in front of him. With so much death lately, Lance felt numb about it.
After making sure all of them were not breathing, Lance made his way back down the hallway and down the stairs. Each step brought a grimace as his bad leg protested. He held onto the wall for support and balance as he made slow but steady progress.
The sounds of battle became louder as he reached the bottom step. He could hear the war cries of the tribal Drakaran as they fought bravely to bide him time.
Lance rounded the corner and spotted Commander Voltross immediately. It wasn’t difficult with his bald head and glowing green body. He was savagely tearing through the tribal Drakaran. Chieftain Zulu was nowhere to be seen.
“The Drakaran council is dead!” Lance yelled as loud as he could, trying to carry his voice over the fighting. At the mention of the council dead, the fighting stopped.
Commander Voltross looked up and smiled. “Good. Now it is just me in charge.”
Lance looked at the Commander in surprise. Before he could say anything else, the Commander raised his hands and suddenly Lance and he were standing outside of the city walls next to the battle outside. Lance saw over a hundred thousand reinforcements charging toward his people.
“I want your people and mine to witness the fall of the human’s mighty hero!” Commander Voltross bellowed. “This is where your beloved crippled dies. Enjoy the show, because it will be your last!”
The battle paused, each side backing away so that Lance and Voltross could square off. They gave the two plenty of room, knowing full well the magical capabilities of the two could cause serious damage.
The Drakaran believed strongly in allowing leaders to battle when already engaged in combat. It was a custom that was unbreakable. The human army did likewise, not out of respect, but more from exhaustion and facing overwhelming odds.
human mage he had ever seen, but his crippled appearance next to the confident, large Drakaran Commander made Porthos worry. This was the leader of the Drakaran army, and by all accounts it was a role filled by being the deadliest killer among a people full of killers. Commander Voltross was rumored to be a master swordsman as well as among the top mystics of his people. Master Porthos did not envy Lance having to face such a deadly combination.
“You and your people should never have made it this far,” Voltross told Lance. “We destroy planets. You… you can barely make it up the stairs.”
“I’m here to fulfill a prophecy,” Lance countered.
“Ha! That stupid prophecy is nothing but old wives’ tales to give hope where there should be none. Enough talk. This war ends today.”
Lance glanced at his army to see if he could spot Charlotte, but she was nowhere in sight. Hopefully she was okay.
Lance rolled his sleeves up and shook out his arms to limber up.
“I’m ready,” Lance announced.
“It’s always good to be ready to die,” Voltross said as a green, crackling energy formed around his body, his hand extending outward to begin his attack.
* * *
Greyson’s smile was genuine. He could not remember the last time he gave a real smile. He expected maybe a few of the offers he sent out to come back with acceptances. He did not expect so many positive responses so quickly.
Greyson was a smart man. For the important bids, he made sure he did his research. A well placed bag of coins here and there provided him with what other companies were bidding. A simple significant undercut with a promise of a guarantee on services worked wonders. He wasn’t half bad at this.
He picked up one of the papers and sat back in his chair. The accepted contract for the mages was completely unexpected. He wagered every company that had even one ship had bid on the job. Greyson strained his brain to recall if any of the mages had seen his face. If they knew what he had done then they would imprison or kill him on the spot. The crippled was the only one he had come close with, and that was from behind with a dagger to the young man’s back. Chances were that he was safe.
Greyson put down the papers and strolled outside. The sun was bright today and the warmth felt pleasant on his face. He was letting his beard grow out, perhaps because he wanted it to be symbolic of his change in life. However, it itched to no end. He had never let it grow out this much, but people said it would eventually stop itching. If that was the case, it was sure taking its sweet time getting to that point.
He made his way down a set of wooden ramps toward the main street, now bustling with men and women going about their insignificant, yet inexplicably busy lives. He pitied them sometimes. They were so busy with their poor, meaningless lives that they had no time to worry about bettering themselves in life.
Greyson shook his head. That type of thinking was terribly depressing. It wasn’t long ago that he himself was like them, wandering about lost and without meaning. They had families and feelings.
“You ready, boss?” A young man asked from his right side.
Greyson’s hand instinctively moved to the dagger at his side but then relaxed as he recognized one of his hired men.
“As ready as I’m going to be,” Greyson replied. “Lead the way.”
The young man was dressed in his fanciest outfit, still far underdressed for a visit to the palace, but enough that it would pass for a professional.
Greyson was wearing a fancy silk shirt with flowing, billowing sleeves. His pants felt tight and uncomfortable, his shoes disgustingly shiny and terribly inconvenient for any sort of footwork if there was a fight to be had. This was totally uncharacteristic of what he normally wore, but it was a necessity when dealing with lucrative customers. The dream of his empire would trump any frivolous distastes in wardrobe he might have.
The palace proved to be a long walk and took even longer to get through the gate. They checked his body for weapons and took his dagger away while on palace grounds. His man was told to wait outside and Greyson nodded to him. The young man wouldn’t do much for him anyway. It was more for show. A merchant typically travelled with body guards and although he didn’t need any protection, he needed to play the part. Four bored, yet dutiful guards escorted him through the palace grounds. He ignored the fancy decor and unnecessary elaborate statues and paintings. The only thing that mattered was staying focused on the prize.
When they reached the mage quarters, Greyson was surprised by how many mages there were walking around, or more accurately, the lack thereof. Where were they all?
“Through those doors,” one of the guards instructed.
The man waited for Greyson to open a heavy set of doors and then the guards waited and positioned themselves outside.
Inside, Greyson was surprised to see an elderly woman wearing the black robes of a Master sitting behind a desk. Along the wall were a pair of guards with long spears.
“Sit down,” the woman said. “We have much to discuss, Greyson of Greyson’s Empire.”
* * *
Thousands of eyes were on Lance and Commander Voltross. While the attention seemed to give the Drakaran Commander more confidence and energy, it made Lance feel the full weight of recent pressures. He knew they were counting on him to get them home safely, but if he lost this duel, not only would he lose his life, but all of these men would never see home again.
Even if he won, there was no telling if that would end the war. The council was dead and hopefully the Commander would follow, but that didn’t negate the fact there were over one hundred thousand enemy troops waiting nearby. Lance had spent some time in the Drakaran world prior to the war, but he wasn’t aware of all their customs. He could only hope that his father’s words about the prophecy were true and that cutting off the head of the snake would end the war.
The green glow around Commander Voltross became unbearably bright, almost impossible to look directly at it. The obsidian armor he wore with shoulder spikes reflected the glow and bounced the light in all directions creating an intimidating visage.
The amount of power that shot forth from Voltross’ hands was enough to burrow a hole in a mountain. If Lance was arrogant enough, he would have tried to block it with a shield. Lance knew better. His attempt at a shield would have been completely shattered by that kind of power. Instead, Lance summoned a gust of wind to the side of himself and shot himself away from the blast.
Voltross marched forward, raising his hands again. This time, Lance attacked before the Commander had time to cast whatever spell he was preparing. Three bolts of lightning shot out. All three were swept aside as easily as if the Commander was swatting annoying flies away.
“This is all the mighty crippled has to offer?” Voltross bellowed across the battlefield. Lance could hear the Drakaran army laughing, but he ignored them. He reached into the recesses of his mind and drew upon the strength he knew he possessed. Just as he was about to send a massive spell Voltross’ way, a plasma bolt hit him in the shoulder, tearing through his flesh and sending him spiraling toward the ground.
The pain was unbearable and Lance found himself attempting to scream, yet no sound came out. His vision blurred, the warriors around him spinning and flowing through his hazy view. He sensed another attack coming, but he was barely keeping himself conscious as it was. Somehow, he found the energy to erect an energy shield. Whatever it was that crashed into it exploded in a shower of sparks, the shield vanishing.
“Lance! Get up!” It was Charlotte’s voice, coming from behind him. He didn’t have time to look for her.
Lance shook his head and stood up on shaky legs, putting most of his weight on his good leg. His vision still swam, his body covered in sweat and his shoulder causing a searing pain to lance through his body, but his survival instincts kicked in. The sound of Charlotte’s pleading scream had an effect on him, h
is mind forcing his exhausted body to move.
Commander Voltross shot another thick blast of plasma toward Lance, this time in a steady stream. Lance countered with a stream of fire of his own. The two forces collided in the middle and held still, neither side able to push the other back.
“You are just a human! I am Drakaran!” Voltross yelled. “With the council dead, I am the true leader of my world! You will die along with your friends and your ridiculous prophecy!”
Chapter 13
Greyson sat down on the needlessly fancy chair across from the Master. It wasn’t easy in the annoyingly tight, fancy pants he wore to bend his legs. How anyone wore these every day was a mystery to Greyson. He gave the old woman a smile. She smiled back. A good sign.
“Thank you for coming here,” the woman said. “ I am Master Gretta. I don’t typically request a meeting with shipments, and I am not the one usually in charge of such matters, but this is no ordinary voyage.”
“I see,” Greyson replied, more to show he was actively listening than actually understanding where she was headed.
“I am in charge of shipments for the palace mage quarters,” Gretta continued. “One of our recent ships came back with half the crew killed. Winter has been harsh across the Great Sea. The stories are conflicted, but the land where we get most of our metals from due to the excess minerals mined there, has suddenly become a dangerous place. They were attacked by unknown creatures while loading up the ships. I will need assurances that your company can provide adequate protection and safe passage to and from.”
Greyson grinned. “I assure you, we are the best there is at ensuring the safety of our shipments.”
“That is good to hear,”’Gretta said. But however many men you usually send, send double. This is not something we can take lightly.”
“I completely understand,” Greyson replied. “It will be done. I will ride personally to ensure all of my men are ready for anything.”
Underdog Mage Chronicles_The War Page 6
