I glanced up at the sky. It was just as blue as Earth’s, with a large yellow sun that seemed to shine brighter than Sol.
“Where are we going?” I asked Tara.
“There,” she replied, gesturing to the mass of tents in front of us. “The old lady will be in the command tent.”
I nodded as if that made sense to me. “What do you call this place?” I looked at her curiously. “You can’t just be calling it location seventy-eight.”
Tara shrugged. “We haven’t formally named the settlement yet. Mostly we refer to it as the Outpost.”
As we resumed walking, I looked around inquisitively. Less than a few yards from the edge of the upper bank, I spotted the shallow ditch we had crossed earlier.
Inspecting it carefully, I realised it was the foundation of a wall. The trench had been dug along the length of the upper bank, and fallen poles had been placed at regular intervals within it.
Noticing the direction of my gaze, Tara answered my unspoken query. “We’ve been trying to fortify the Outpost for days, but every time we make significant progress with its construction, the murluks destroy our work. It’s why we have taken to meeting the creatures at the river’s edge and not on the upper bank. If we can only hold them at bay there for a few days, then we might just give our crafters the time they need to complete the wall.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about the creatures,” I said as we resumed walking. “Why do they attack?”
Tara chuckled. “Your guess is as good as mine. They’ve assaulted us since day one and seem determined to kill us off. We haven’t been able to learn as much about the murluks as we’d like. What we do know is that they are territorial and consider this stretch of river—including both shores—theirs.”
“Have your people tried reasoning with them? The murluks are intelligent, right? They must be if they bear arms and wear armour.”
“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” Tara said with a grimace. “But as far as we can tell the creatures only possess a rudimentary intelligence—an animal cunning of sorts. No one has been able to detect any speech patterns in the noises they make, nor have we found a means of communicating with them. All attempts at negotiations have failed—disastrously.”
“Huh,” I grunted. I had not come across mention of the murluks in my study of the Trials Infopedia, so I was no better informed than Tara about the creatures. “Have you encountered others besides the murluks?”
“Far too many for my liking,” she replied grimly. “All hostile, too. I’m not sure if it’s just this area, or the whole Dominion, but you can’t go a day in any direction without being set upon by a monster wanting to kill or eat you.”
“So your people haven’t explored much?”
Tara shook her head. “What with the constant murluk attacks and other dangers, the old lady has decided to keep our forces close at hand, at least until we complete our fortifications. The only ones that leave the camp are the foragers and hunters, and with game so plentiful, even they never have to go beyond a few miles.”
So, anything can be out there, I thought.
I had more questions to ask about the old lady, the Outpost’s organisational structure, and Tara’s own place in it, but just then we reached the camp. As we passed the first tent, I sensed a charged heaviness to the air. What—?
Before I could delve further into the sudden strangeness, energy suffused me. Between one moment and the next, I went from feeling drained to being buoyed with new vigour. I walked with a new spring in my step and my pace quickened.
What in the world?
I was unsurprised when a Trials alert followed in the wake of the startling changes.
You have been blessed by an unknown player’s aura: commander’s own. While you remain within its field of effect, your might and resilience Attributes are increased.
You have been blessed by an unknown player’s aura: inspiring. While you remain within its field of effect, your health and stamina regeneration rates are increased.
“Buffs,” I murmured to myself.
Tara smiled knowingly at me. “That’s the old lady’s doing,” she said. “Nice, aren’t they?”
I nodded absently as I studied the area. We stood at the edge of the tented camp. The encampment was larger than it had appeared from a distance and likely sheltered thousands. The tents themselves were roughshod and primitive. Seemingly constructed from boiled leather hides, they had been poorly cut and sewn together.
The heaviness I’d sensed in the air was still prevalent. Some instinct made me open my magesight. As it unfurled, my vision exploded with rippling lines of energy. I bit back a startled yelp. Magesight revealed the entire camp to be covered by luminous filaments that criss-crossed in a dizzying maze.
The threads interconnected every human walking the camp. Looking down upon myself, I saw that the energy field had fused with my own being too, and in slow drips, fed and revitalised me with energy.
It is a mesh of spirit, I realised then. No, not one, but two meshes, I corrected myself. Following the twin weaves of spirit back their source, I saw that they rippled outwards from a tent which was twice as large as the surrounding ones and located nearly in the exact centre of the camp. That must be where the old lady is.
I opened my mouth to question Tara further, but before I could do so, she yanked on my arm. “Come on, quit dawdling.”
Wordlessly, I let her steer me towards the command tent, my mind still entranced by the delicate mesh overlying the camp. Is this what magic looks like? I wondered. Following hard on that thought came another: if Tara’s old lady already has magic, why do they need me?
We came to a stop in front of the large tent. Given Tara’s impatience to get us here, I expected her to barge inside. But instead, she shifted from foot to foot while she studied the closed tent flap. I eyed her askance. She was stalling, I realised.
Why is she suddenly worried?
“Before we go in there, remember to be polite,” Tara said finally. She refused to meet my gaze as she spoke. “The old lady can be a trifle… intimidating at times.” Not waiting for my response, she ducked inside.
I stared at the open tent flap, alarmed more by Tara’s display of nerves than by her ominous-sounding warning. What am I walking into? But whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than facing orcs or battling murluks.
With a shrug, I bent down and followed on Tara’s heels.
Chapter 16
391 days until the Arkon Shield falls
Sorcery is magic of the spirit and is fuelled by spirit itself. Even those with no Potential for magic may harness it. —Trials Infopedia.
The inside of the tent was brightly lit with torches. In its centre was a log table. I frowned at its crude construction. The table had been made from hacked-off logs, bound together with sinew and gut. Can the Outpost’s crafters do no better?
There were three people clustered around the table, one of whom I instantly knew had to be the old lady.
Unlike the other two, the old lady was, well, old.
Her hair was iron grey, her posture erect, and her face wrinkled and seamed with age. The woman’s eyes were closed and her hands were clasped behind her back as she listened to her two younger colleagues, both of whom were as fresh-faced as everyone else in the camp.
Tara cleared her throat.
The old lady’s eyelids snapped open. Piercing blue eyes flicked from Tara to me—frank, direct, and coolly assessing.
“Tara,” she greeted. Her voice was warm and welcoming, and at odds with her strict military bearing. “I didn’t expect you back so soon, and with a guest, no less.” Only the barest hint of a pause betrayed her surprise at my presence.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. But this couldn’t wait. You’ve heard about what happened?”
“Marcus has just finished filling me in.” She shook her head. “You should have summoned me earlier, Tara,” she chided.
Tara bowed her head, accept
ing the gentle rebuke without dissent. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the battle turned so swiftly there hadn’t been any time.”
The old lady nodded. “Marcus said almost the same thing.” She pursed her lips. “It seems I can no longer afford to stay away from these skirmishes. The murluks are getting bolder.”
She set the matter aside with a shrug. “But I hear events turned out alright in the end. Did you discover how our northern flank managed to push back the attack?”
“I did, ma’am.” Tara pivoted, angling her body to point towards me. “This is Jamie Sinclair. A new player and the one responsible. He shows promise.”
The Outpost leader quirked one eyebrow in surprise. “A new player,” she mused. “And crippled to boot.” Her words were flat and unemotional, a simple statement of fact that carried no hint of derision. Remarkably too, they were devoid of the pity that most people unconsciously voiced when speaking the word ‘cripple.’
I had been watching the old lady carefully ever since I entered the tent and hadn’t seen her cast a single glance downwards at my foot. Yet somehow, she had divined my disability, even when I stood motionless. The Outpost’s leader was astute and observant. Dangerously so. I will have to be careful around her.
The tent was silent, and I realised that the others were waiting for me to speak. “Good day, ma’am,” I said. “As Tara mentioned, I am Jamie Sinclair and still very new to Overworld. I entered this morning.”
“Interesting,” said the old lady. “Only a few hours in this world, yet somehow you have not only garnered Captain Tara’s respect”—I shot Tara a surprised glance. So she was a captain?—“no small feat in of itself, but you also managed to repel a murluk attack. And you are already level nine. Impressive, Mister Sinclair. Very impressive.”
I started. How did she know my level? I had not sensed her analyse me as I had with Tara before. Had she analysed me? I wasn’t sure. I was almost afraid to try the Technique on her.
“Just Jamie, ma’am,” I replied, attempting a disarming grin. “I’m too young to be anyone’s mister.”
The old lady smiled as if in appreciation of my effort. “Well, Jamie, I am Commander Jolin Silbright, but most just call me ‘the old lady,’ for obvious reasons.” She gestured to the blonde man next to her. “This is Captain Marcus, and this”—she pointed to the black-haired giant next to him—“is Captain Petrov.”
Marcus was a slim, dapper-looking individual who looked less a captain than an office clerk, while Petrov was a solidly built man whose height easily topped seven feet. Both men nodded curtly in greeting, their gazes curious.
The commander braced her arms on the table and leaned forward intently. “Now tell me, young man, how did you stop the murluks?” she asked, her voice stripped of its previous affability.
I met her gaze. “I have a Technique called invincible. It makes me immune to damage for thirty seconds.”
“Ah,” said the commander. Other than that single word, Jolin displayed no other reaction to my revelation. “How often can you use the Technique?”
“Only once a day.”
She nodded, eying me shrewdly. “I assume that it was the Trait that made you enter Overworld without a Clean Slate?”
“It is,” I replied. I had been prepared for the question and managed to keep my face blank, so as not to reveal the half-truth behind my words.
“I see,” said Jolin, leaning back. “A useful Trait, but ultimately not one of much tactical significance.”
I didn’t dispute the commander’s assessment, even though I disagreed. Let her draw her own conclusions.
“Well if that is all, I wish you good luck, young man,” said Jolin. “We need every able man and woman to fight for humanity’s cause. I trust you will join us in our efforts. Tara will fill you in on the details.” The dismissal in the commander’s words was clear.
“There is more, ma’am,” said Tara.
The commander turned in her direction, one brow arched upwards in query.
“He has magic.” Both captains stiffened in response to Tara’s words, but again the commander betrayed not the least hint of surprise.
“Well, then,” Jolin said. “Petrov, fetch Tara and Jamie some stools. It seems we are in for a much longer conversation.”
✽✽✽
Petrov left the tent silently.
I cast surreptitious glances at the others. Tara had folded her arms and fell into something akin to parade rest. She seemed content to wait for her fellow captain’s return. The commander and Marcus, ignoring me, bent their heads over the table and studied what appeared to be a hand-drawn map of the vicinity.
I pursed my lips as I studied the commander. I still wasn’t sure what to make of her—other than she appeared both formidable and unflappable. Is she a mage? I wondered.
Deciding not to forgo the opportunity to learn more of the people I had fallen in with, I cast analyse upon Marcus and the commander.
The target is Marcus Smithson, a level 28 human player. He has no Magic, meagre Might, and is gifted with both Resilience and Craft.
The target is Jolin Silbright, a level 49 human player. She has no Magic, mediocre Might, exceptional Resilience, and is gifted with Craft.
Marcus appeared oblivious to my probing. But despite my care, the old lady sensed what I was doing. The sharp look she threw my way made that clear.
I ducked my head, shying away from her gaze while I tried to make sense of the Trials’ feedback. Jolin had no magic. But that makes no sense, I thought with a troubled frown. How had she cast the two auras, then?
Her level was disconcerting too. She was a much higher level than both Marcus and Tara. How had she achieved that? And her age… why had she chosen to enter Overworld in her old body? Could she also have Traits from her old life that she wanted to retain? Did that explain her auras too?
Perhaps it is like my own trait-given Techniques, I thought. I knew that both invincible and mimic did not draw from my magic—the mana residing within me—but were instead powered by pure spirit.
Was that the answer? In my magesight Jolin’s auras had seemed like a mesh of spirit. Are the buffs surrounding the commander an extension of her spirit itself? I wondered.
I was debating using my magesight to study Jolin again when Petrov returned. The big man carried a log stool under either arm.
The five of us took our seats around the table, and without preamble the commander resumed the conversation—or was it an interrogation? “Now, then, tell me about your magic,” said Jolin. “What can you do?”
I studied her impassive face. She seemed to have no doubt that I would answer. I shrugged. “I don’t have any magic—yet. Only Potential. I haven’t visited the dragon temple. I joined the battle as soon as I arrived.”
“You entered the fight as a level one virgin?” asked Marcus, his voice heavy with disbelief. “Without even basic training?”
“There was no time, Marcus,” replied Tara with a shrug. “He arrived during the attack. I was sure I could protect him.”
Marcus snorted. “That was foolish.”
“It was my call, Marcus,” Tara replied coolly. I noticed she did not tell him she had been unaware of my Magic Potential until after the battle.
Ignoring her subordinates, the commander kept her gaze fixed on me. “And just how did you come to arrive here, Jamie?”
“Ma’am?”
“Location seventy-eight is only reachable through the elven gate at New Springs, and then only to those who refuse the elves’ ‘generous’ offer of pseudo-citizenship. But you are not from New Springs, are you, Jamie?”
I struggled to keep my face scrubbed clean of expression. How had she figured out I wasn’t from her town? Her intuition was scary, and I realised I would be hard pressed to keep my secrets from her.
“I’m not,” I replied, choosing to be honest instead of attempting a deception that would likely fail.
Petrov, Marcus, and ev
en Tara frowned at my response. The commander, however, only nodded. “Will you tell us where you are from and how you got here?”
The direction of the old lady’s questioning was worrying, and I had to stop myself from biting my lip. What did she know? Or guess? “Not just yet,” I replied with a shake of my head.
A knowing glint appeared in the commander’s eyes and I realised she had anticipated my response.
“Well then, Jamie, what do you want?” Jolin asked.
“Ma’am?” I asked, frowning in confusion.
“You are clearly an intelligent young man, Jamie. One who is mistrustful—probably with good cause—and determined to keep his own counsel. But you also have something we desperately need: magic. I suspect you are not the type to be swayed by moving speeches, nor do you appear inclined to join our cause.”
Now how did she figure that out already? I wondered. I felt like I was ten steps behind the commander. Where is she going with this?
Leaning forward on the table, Jolin steepled her fingers. “I don’t have time to beat around the bush, Jamie. So, I’ll ask you again: what do you want in exchange for your aid?”
I stared at the commander and somehow managed to keep my jaw from dropping open in shock. Nothing about this conversation was going the way I had foreseen. I had expected the old lady’s reaction to be similar to Tara’s, and for her to try and browbeat me into joining them. What I had not anticipated was a forthright and blunt attempt to buy my services.
And I was insulted.
I would never stoop so low to demand payment from those so desperately in need. “I don’t want anything,” I replied with an angry scowl. “I will help as I can. Freely and without payment, and for as long as I am here. But,” I said, meeting the commander’s gaze squarely, “I will not join your organisation.” I glanced at her captains. “Nor will I put myself under the command of your… officers.”
A small smile played at the corners of the commander’s mouth. “Thank you, Jamie,” she murmured. “Your terms are acceptable and most generous, too. You will not be forced to join us.” She sat back and spread her hands on the table, palms out. “But I do have a condition of my own as well.”
Overworld (Dragon Mage Saga Book 1): A fantasy post-apocalyptic story Page 13