by King, DB
Logan nodded, finding no fault with this notion.
The group set off, making their way back in the direction of the caravan. As they traveled, Logan could sense the eyes of the men, hear their whispers as they spoke to one another. He couldn’t make out their words, but he could sense that he was the subject of their discussion as they earnestly tried to figure out what sort of new world this ranger would unleash.
Would they gain incredible power, be part of an army that would restore civilization to Varsyth? Or would they follow the fledgling War Wizard into death and obscurity?
Logan pushed that all out of his mind, not wanting to be distracted by the chattering of the men.
“Quiet,” Raymond called out as they moved. “Focus on getting back. You can gossip like servant girls when we’re among the caravan once more.”
Logan smiled at Raymond’s command.
The man knows how to lead—I can say that much about him, Logan thought. And if I’m to lead armies, I’ll need men and women like him. He could be a powerful ally, should I win his trust and loyalty.
They continued, and after a time, they were out of the desert and back into the wastes. The scoured landscape around them was hardly a pleasant change, but at the very least the temperature was lower, a cool breeze flowing over the cracked earth.
Logan fell back, nodding to Arachne and beckoning her to join him.
“Yes, ranger?” she asked. She was an attractive woman, her silver hair draping over her bare breasts and covering them, her figure slender and her muscles toned.
“I want to know more,” Logan said. “I want to know what I can achieve as a War Wizard, what powers I can gain.”
“I’ve already told you what sort of blessings I can bestow,” Arachne said. “And I’m more than happy to help you gain them.”
“But there are more Archspirits, are there not? And they will all have their powers to offer?”
She took in a slow breath, as if it were a subject she didn’t want to discuss.
“Yes,” she said. “There are other spirits.”
“You seem hesitant to talk about them.”
“Well, it’s a simple matter of it being a winner-takes-all game. Every follower another spirit gains is one that I don’t. We all crave followers, crave the power that they grant us.”
“And a follower can only bear the rune of a single Archspirit? They can’t have runes from multiple Archspirits?”
“They cannot. War Wizards are a different matter, however. You can have as many runes as your mortal body can bear. There is something I must warn you about, though. Many Archspirits refuse to ally with humans or elves. They feel that they are above mortals, that mortals are not worthy of their patronage. Spirits who feel this way… you might have to use other methods to convince them to help you.”
“You mean I have to fight them. As the War Wizards of my time did.”
“You’ll have to bring them under your heel, step into your destiny as a War Wizard as was done for thousands of years.”
“And what about how you all want followers? Does this mean that I’ll have to worry about competition among you all?”
She smiled. “Perhaps friendly competition. Should you become as powerful of a War Wizard as I have a feeling you might, you should have no trouble managing our… unique personalities.”
“Then that means you know of them,” he said. “Tell me about the other spirits.”
“Their names and forms may very well have changed in the years since I’ve last known them.”
“Are you serious?” Logan asked. “Does that mean you haven’t always looked like this?”
“Why? Do you like what you see? Would it disappoint you if I were to take another form?” Arachne grinned, as if her body was having the effect she’d hoped it would.
“I’m more curious what to expect.”
She offered one more smile and nodded. “When a spirit’s physical form is destroyed, their essence is unleashed into the world, unformed and drifting. Only after a long period of focus can they regain their avatars—and they’re not limited in what they can choose. However, most of us are drawn to certain forms, choosing to retain them through the years.” She swept her hands over her body, once more drawing Logan’s attention to her shape. “This is the one I choose. I can’t say why, really. It suits me. I like the effect it has on men, in particular. Foolish men do things for a body like this that they otherwise wouldn’t.”
“I can see why,” Logan japed.
Arachne smiled. “But you want to know more about other spirits.”
“What of Fenrir?” he asked. “He is the spirit whose mark I bore when I was still living, and I still wear it now.”
“Ah, yes, Fenrir,” Arachne said with a sigh. “I’m afraid I do not know where he has been hiding. He had many places of power where he could have rested while the world turned upside down. I cannot sense his presence in any of them, though.” Her expression became concerned before it brightened. “Nevertheless, while Fenrir is wherever he is, doing whatever he’s doing, I can tell you of another spirit. There is one near to us, one whose power I can sense. His name is Maar, and he commands serpents just as I command spiders.”
“Maar,” Logan said, committing the name to memory. “And what are his powers? What can he give his followers?”
The name ‘Maar’ sounded vaguely familiar. But Logan had no recollection of any serpent tattoos among the War Wizards of the Elderwood Rangers. There were spirits spoken of in legends, but their names were too great to recall. Perhaps Maar was one of them?
“It’s been ages since I’ve done battle with the followers of Maar at my side,” Arachne said. “But I remember great serpent warriors, powerful fighters with the heads of cobras, a curved blade in each hand. They fought in the front lines, terrifying warriors that carved through troops like a knife through hot wax. They’re a natural complement to my own followers—while soldiers with my gifts are skilled at infiltration and summoning, they have trouble in standard combat.”
Logan listened intently.
Arachne continued. “If you want an army capable of taking over an entire continent, you’ll need more than only the soldiers of one or two of us Archspirits. You’ll need many, and you’ll need to command them properly in order to use their powers and skills to their maximum potential. You’ll need to know how to allocate powers to your troops, to keep your army balanced. You’ll need to become a great general, a mind of strategic brilliance. Do you feel that you are up to this task, ranger?”
Logan grinned. “Without a doubt.”
“Excellent. Then Maar is who we should find next. His precise location, I can’t say for certain. But I can feel his power. And I’ve no doubt that if you were to focus, you’d feel it as well. Try it, ranger.”
Logan closed his eyes, trying to get a sense of this power Arachne spoke of.
But nothing came. “I can’t see anything. No face comes to mind.”
Arachne only grinned. “No—you aren’t going to see anything. You’ll feel it. Focus on the power as if you’re trying to remember a dream.”
Logan did as she asked.
Something came to mind.
“What is it?” she asked. “Tell me what you feel.”
“I feel… the fetid stink of a swamp, the thick, humid air.”
“Go on.”
“I feel… I feel my foot upon cold, hard stone, a snake wrapping around my ankle. I can see, in my mind’s eye, a strange temple of stone, rising up into the sky.”
“And there you are,” she said. “It makes perfect sense. Maar always preferred his stone temples.”
“Then that’s what I need to find—a temple to the snake spirit.”
“It’s where I’d begin.”
Logan opened his mouth to respond, to get more information out of her.
“Halt!” Raymond’s voice boomed, each man coming to a stop.
“What the hells?” Logan muttered, his voice low as he tried to see what was going on, w
hy Raymond had issued the order.
“Scout!” Raymond shouted. “And it’s one of ours!”
He pointed ahead in the distance, off in the direction they were traveling. Sure enough, a figure on a horse was in the distance, coming toward them as quickly as he could. The colors of his uniform marked him instantly as one of the guards of the caravan.
The men formed up, while Logan approached Raymond and Runa as they took lead positions. As the scout hurried toward them, the sound of the hooves pounding into the earth filling the air, Logan could see the expression on the scout’s face—it was one of intense concentration.
Raymond raised his hand, and the soldier came to a stop.
“Report!” called out Raymond.
“Sir! We’re under attack!”
Logan’s gut tightened, his body tensing for battle.
“Soldiers!” Raymond yelled. “Double-time!”
The troops obeyed, picking up the pace of their movements. Logan and Runa shared a glance that said without words that they knew more bloodshed was on the horizon.
Logan grinned, knowing he wasn’t going to wait long for a chance to use his new powers to deadly effect.
Chapter 10: Logan
During the rush back to the caravan, the soldier recounted to the group what had happened.
The caravan had come under attack by an orc raiding band, the orcs more organized and better equipped than the gnolls who’d attacked earlier. The caravan barely had time to circle up before the orcs attacked. Sturm, the soldier left in charge in Raymond’s absence, ordered the soldier to take their fastest horse and find Raymond and the rest of the soldiers. The trooper had barely gotten away before the orcs launched their attack.
“I should’ve been with my men,” Raymond said as they moved. “I should’ve been guarding the caravan and not out on some damn foolish treasure hunt.”
Logan wanted to speak up, to tell the guard captain that the search for the runes was their best chance of gaining the power they’d need to make the trip back to their kingdom. But he kept his mouth shut, knowing that saying something like that was likely the last thing the guard captain wanted to hear at that moment.
They hurried back, racing across the wastes until the sounds of battle could be heard in the distance.
It wasn’t long before they returned to the caravan, stopping on a small hill overlooking it, the soldiers coming to a stop as they took in the scene.
The caravan had circled, which was a sight of great relief. Logan knew an attack on the flanks of a caravan in a line would be deadly; the outriders had done their jobs. But there were easily several dozen orcs, many of them clad in heavy armor. Orc armor wasn’t the most elegant, but an orc clad in sufficient gear could be nearly impossible to take down unless the weak points were struck.
The archers were in the center of the caravan firing volley after volley of arrow into the masses of orcs. But even from a distance, Logan could see that the arrows weren’t doing a damn bit of good—most uselessly plinked off the plate armor and helmets. If an arrow did manage to get through and stuck into the thick arms of the orcs, the orcs would laugh as they yanked it out and tossed it aside. Elvish spearmen kept the attack at bay for the moment, but formations of the orcs made it clear they were in the process of preparing for their charge when Logan’s group had arrived.
One of the orcs caught sight of the new arrivals and got the attention of the chieftain. The leader of the orc attack was easy to spot—he was tall and covered in armor decorated with warpaint. Only the orc’s mouth and beady eyes were visible through the small slits of his helmet.
Once the chieftain realized the rest of the guard had returned, he gestured to one of the other orcs, who hurried over, something in his hand. He gave it over to the chieftain, who took the object, looked it over, then strode through the crowd of battle-hungry orcs. Once he reached the edge of the perimeter, he pulled back his arm and heaved the object through the air. It sailed through the sky in an arc, traveling an incredible distance and landing with a thud before rolling toward Logan’s group.
One of Raymond’s guards ran to it and picked it up. When he realized what it was, he froze, and dropped it, hurrying back to the group. The color drained out of his face.
“What was it?” Raymond asked.
“Sturm,” the soldier said. “What was left of him.”
Raymond formed his hand into a fist, and Logan could sense that part of the guard captain wanted to rush into battle right then and there and avenge his fallen comrade. But before Raymond could give even a single order, Arachne approached him, placing her slender hand on his shoulder.
“Captain, could I give a demonstration of my power?” Arachne said. “It is small, considering there is but one mortal who bears my mark in this world, but it could prove useful.”
His lips pursed, he snapped his gaze in her direction. “We need to rejoin the main forces. How can you help?”
“By providing a distraction.”
“Then do it.”
Arachne nodded. She moved gracefully, almost as if her feet weren’t even touching the ground, over to the front of the group. She raised her hands and closed her eyes. Logan watched as the orcs took notice, a group of them forming at the chieftain’s order at the edge of their ranks.
Arachne swirled her hands, magical energy forming in a strange, misty pool in front of her, the mist so thick and deep that it seemed more like melted silver.
“Come, children,” she spoke. “Come to your mother.”
The mist cleared, revealing what seemed to be thousands of black, obsidian-like spiders in its place.
“Gods!” shouted out of the men. “How many of them are there?”
Arachne paid his words no mind. Instead, she slowly raised her finger toward the orcs, a slight smile on her face.
The spiders moved. Skittering sounds filled the air as the army of arachnids moved like a wave toward the orcs. Within seconds, the hundreds, thousands of spiders reached the orc forces and began attacking, crawling up the legs and under the armor of the orcs, howls of pain sounding out as the spiders sank their fangs into the limbs of the beasts.
“Holy hells,” Raymond said as he watched.
“That’s one way to take out an army,” Runa commented.
But as Logan watched the spiders do their work, he saw an opening.
“Captain!” he called to Raymond. “What do you say, a head for a head?”
Raymond regarded Logan with curiosity for a moment, then nodded.
Logan grinned, turning his attention to the chieftain and the caravan behind him. He took a deep breath, focusing on the power of the spider rune on the back of his neck. He could feel its power coursing through him, his limbs becoming lighter as the rune took hold. He shifted his focus, allowing the power of his Fenrir wolf to flow through him as well. He felt it, felt the powers combine.
Logan rushed toward the caravan with the speed of the wolf, making a broad half-circle around the orcs as they struggled to swipe the spiders from the bodies. Some noticed him, but they were too busy to attack. He reached the nearest caravan and jumped up toward it. He stretched his arms out, feeling the prickling sensation of the spider spines as they shot out of his palms.
When he landed on the caravan, he stuck onto it, climbing up the side with the agility of an arachnid. When he reached the top, looking down at the orc chieftain, he pushed off the caravan, flying backward in a tall arc through the air. He kept his eyes focused on the chieftain, flipping as he careened down, his feet pointed toward the ground. The spiders cleared as he approached, making way for him to land.
The moment he landed, he looked up to see the orc chieftain in front of him, the beast’s mouth twisted into an expression of surprise. Logan smirked, then pulled his axe from his belt and swiped across, slicing the chieftain’s legs and bringing the beast to his knees. The orc fell, his neck exposed through the gap between his helmet and his chest plate. Logan pulled the axe back and swiped once more, the
muscles and veins and bone of the orc’s neck giving way to the powerful blade that severed the chieftain’s head from his body.
The head rolled onto the ground with a series of dull thuds, blood jetting up from the headless body in dark spurts that splashed onto the earth. The body slumped over, the chieftain dead.
A brief silence fell over the battlefield, the orcs taking a momentary break from swiping the spiders from their bodies to realize that their chief was slain. The elf archers had ceased firing, seeing through the barrier of the caravan what had happened.
“Soldiers!” Raymond shouted. “Attack!”
His men let out a yell, and the spearmen near the caravan did the same. The two sides raced toward the orcs, engaging in a brutal melee as they met in battle. Logan didn’t waste a second in joining them. He laid eyes on the nearest orc, flying toward the beast with his axe pulled back. Once he was near, he brought it forward, cutting the orc through the back of the knee and bringing him down. The orc hobbled, but a second swipe took his head off as surely as it had the chieftain.
“It is good to be back in the realm of the living!” Logan roared.
He smiled broadly, his eyes in hunter’s slits. There wasn’t much that made him happier than killing orcs.
Raymond, blade in hand, deftly poked his weapon through the gaps in the armor of the orcs. He severed the tendons of their feet, dropping them and jamming his blade into their necks.
He’s a skilled killer—no doubt about that, Logan noted as he watched the guard captain.
Runa worked with the spearmen, hurrying to their ranks and taking position behind them. Once in command, she ordered the spearmen into orderly lines, marching them toward the orcs and forming unrelenting lines of skewering spears, their shields held out in front of them, the handles of the spears resting on the notches on the shields’ tops. They jabbed and jabbed, stabbing orc after orc as the beasts managed to marshal themselves into a charge, bodies dropping left and right.
Logan spotted Arachne through the commotion, swirling her hands once more. More magical energy appeared on the ground, the mist covering the spiders. The energy pooled around the legs of the orcs, and when it faded, the spiders were gone. Instead, gobs of webbing stuck to their legs, holding them in place. The orcs tried to pull their legs out of the sticky string, but they were unable to do so without hacking at it with their weapons.