by King, DB
The elves let out a war cry, brandishing their spears as they rushed headlong into the fight. Arachne and the assassins dropped down from the caravan, wielding their blades and attacking the orcs from the exposed flank. Arachne used her spider legs as weapons, jamming their pointed ends into the necks of the orcs, dropping them one after another. Her eyes glowed red, a wild smile on her face. As Logan watched her kill mercilessly, blood jetting into the air around him, there was no doubt in him that her power had grown.
The summoners held their spells, Logan and his warriors rushing into the fray and attacking the spider-covered orcs. The elves used their spears to deadly effect, jamming their pointed ends into the upper thighs of the orcs, dropping them to the ground before finishing them off with well-placed stabs to the neck.
Logan held up his axe, eager to see what the poison could do. He spotted the nearest orc and rushed toward it, letting out a cry as he closed the distance. The orc turned just in time to watch as he swung his axe and sliced into the beast’s flesh.
Logan didn’t cut deeply—and that was intended. The orc seemed confused, as if wondering why a warrior like Logan would make such a weak strike.
But the confusion didn’t last long. The orc’s eyes went wide, and the beast reached for its neck, coughing and sputtering as it struggled to regain its breath. It coughed more and more, the intensity increasing as the poison did its work. The wound on the orc’s leg turned dark, black veins spreading out from it as the poison moved through its body. The orc dropped to its knees, black liquid sputtering from its mouth.
There were few sights that could have pleased Logan more than seeing an orc suffer. He wished he could grant every orc on the continent of Varsyth such a grisly fate. He considered drawing his dagger and making this orc’s death as excruciating as possible.
But he had work to do. He pulled back his axe and swung it in a sharp arc, slicing through the orc’s neck and finishing the job the poison had started. From there, he took the fight to the rest of the orcs, crippling them with strikes from his poisonous axe, then finishing them off with well-placed blows to the neck and head. He used his web power to fire sticky gobs of webbing at the feet of orcs, holding them in place for long enough to land killing blows.
Arachne and the assassins attacked from the flank, focusing their attacks on the orcs most occupied by the spiders. They attacked carefully, as if not wanting to engage in frontal combat.
Assassins can do damage, but they’re best used as support, Logan considered. Front-line combat isn’t the best application of their skills.
Logan banked that information in the back of his mind and returned his attention to the battle. His front-line fighters did their work, and before too long, the camp was cleared of orcs. The battle was won, and Logan hadn’t lost a single man.
The restrained woman regarded the scene with wide eyes, as if unable to believe what she’d seen. And now that Logan was up close, he could see how beautiful she was. Her skin was dusky and tan, her eyes dark. And there was no doubt she wasn’t a member of the caravan. She was human, and her robes struck him as those that might belong to a priestess.
“Cut her down,” Logan said to one of the men. “Give her water and let her catch her breath. I’ll be wanting to speak to her later.”
Arachne approached him, a smirk on her face.
“Now you see what my powers are capable of, yes?”
“I do,” Logan said, nodding. “You and the abilities you gave to the men turned this from an impossible battle into a slaughter.”
She nodded slowly. “And you’ll be pleased to know that the servants are safely inside.”
“Thank you, spirit.”
“And that’s not all.”
“Not all? What do you mean?”
“I have a gift for you. Come.”
She turned and made her way to the center of the camp. Among the fallen bodies of the rest of the group, a single orc was on his knees near the firepit. He was covered in tattoos, his marked armor signaling that he was the leader of the group. Webbing was gathered at legs, holding him in place. He growled and cursed and struggled to free himself, to no avail.
“He tried to flee,” Arachne said. “And I stuck him with paralyzing poison. I assumed you’d want to have a chat with him.”
Logan grinned as he caught the orc’s murderous gaze.
“You assumed correctly. I’m going to go get some answers. And Gods willing, I’ll have some fun in the process.”
Chapter 13: Guard Captain Raymond
The Past
Raymond K’legrethi, son of Aethelryn, stood on the precipice of the cliff face, the gnarled trunks of the trees far down below, their tops the rusty red typical of the Bloodroot trees that grew near the base of the Dragoneye Mountains, that towering, jagged-peaked mountain range that split Varsyth into east and west.
A storm swirled around, churning the crackling skies above him. He and the rest of his party were high enough that being caught in a downpour at that height could prove deadly.
Blasted storm was supposed to come later in the day? What good is a nature seer if they can’t get the times right?
He pushed the thought out of his head, knowing that cursing what had already come to pass wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good. His mission was too important, and if he and his party didn’t succeed, their plan to reach the realms of men wouldn’t even occur—let alone the more outlandish aspects to the overall goals of the caravan.
The plan was simple—to travel to the other side of the mountains through valleys that cut through them and to eliminate the orc camp in front of the Dragoneye Pass.
“Having fun, lover?” Raymond glanced down the precipice and caught the smiling face of Gwenelyn O’rythn, his mate and partner on the expedition across the range. She had to raise her voice to speak above the howling winds. But no fear marred her stunning features—it never did, no matter the predicament. It was one of the many traits Raymond adored in her.
“Always, Gwen!” he shouted back. “And I assume the same goes for the rest of the party?”
Gwen turned away from Raymond and glanced in the opposite direction. Aimar, the third-in-command of the party, was next past Gwen. Down the line were the three other members of their group. All were tied with rope to one another, knots of the material held in place against the rock face with hooks made of elvish steel. They traveled light, each member of the group only carrying the necessary supplies to make the crossing, along with enough food to last no more than a day.
And their weapons. They would be needing those.
Aimar raised his middle and index finger straight up into the air, the causal elvish signal for, “all is good.”
“They’re thrilled!” Gwen shouted, the wind increasing in volume still.
“Raymond!” shouted Aimar from past Gwen. He said something else after that, but the wind was so high by this point that Raymond couldn’t hear him.
“What did he say?” Raymond asked Gwen.
“He said, ‘Get that gorgeous ass of yours in gear—the longer we stay up here the more likely we are to end up in the branches below’!” She grinned. “I embellished a bit on a certain word. I’m sure you can guess which one.”
Raymond laughed, the chuckle shaking his body enough to necessitate grabbing onto the rope and holding fast. Her humor was another of the traits he adored in his lover.
“Gwen, you make me fall because I laughed at something you said, I swear to the Goddesses that I’ll come back and haunt you until the end of your days!”
“You’d come back to the mortal world to visit me only to make me laugh? I have to admit, I’d be a touch disappointed at that.”
Raymond chuckled again, this time raising his finger toward her and playfully wagging it. The mission had been a nightmare thus far, but he was pleased to be undertaking it at Gwen’s side. He hadn’t only brought her because she was his lover. No, he was too careful a commander to make a decision like that. He brought her because she was the best ranger
in the caravan, and for a mission that involved cutting through one of the most dangerous mountain passes, a woman like her would be essential.
Raymond glanced down the precipice, finally taking his eyes off Gwen. The small ridge led down to a clearing in the Bloodroot trees. Once there, they could rest, eat, and prepare for the final leg of their journey. Off in the far distance, Raymond could see a trio of bonfires at the orcish camp. But he didn’t let his gaze linger on it—there was too much to be done until then.
He grabbed onto the rope, making his way down the ridge. It was tense work, the ridge extending only two paces out from the rock face. A single slip, and—
Just as the thought occurred to him, a chunk of the rock beneath his foot broke off from the wall. Raymond’s body lurched with the movement as he fell forward. His heart jumped up into his throat, the world falling end-over-end in front of him as he dropped.
But he didn’t fall far. Fingers wrapped around his wrist, holding him in place. His body lolled in the wind, the cliff face before him growing larger and smaller as he swung in front of it.
He didn’t need to glance up to know what had happened.
“Now,” Gwen said, who squatted above him, her hand grasping onto his wrist. “How many times is it now that I’ve saved your ass?”
“Three,” Raymond said. “But it’s two times I’ve saved your ass. But I’d be more than happy to revisit the issue when I’m not dangling above a four-hundred-pace-high dropoff!”
Gwen laughed, reaching down and grabbing further along his arm. Her body secured to the cliff face with the rope, she was able to put all her might into the lift. With a bit of effort, she had Raymond back on the jutting rock.
She clapped her arm on his leather pauldron and looked him up and down.
“You alright?”
“As alright as one could expect considering I was nearly impaled on the branches of those Bloodroot trees below.”
The wind kicked up again, this howl worse than any of the others. They waited for it to pass.
“Oh, come now—don’t be a babe. With the superb job I’ve done attaching the rope, you would’ve likely fallen no more than… ten paces. Less if you’d bothered to fasten it to your belt as I instructed. True, you might’ve smacked your face into the rock wall and busted up those pearly teeth of yours. But you’d have lived to see another day.”
She smiled, her ocean-blue eyes twinkling in the low light of dawn. The two of them teased one another mercilessly, but in moments such as those, there was no doubt to Raymond that it was all backed by love—a love deeper than either of them had ever known.
“Now,” she said, “quit gawking at me like an overly excited boy and get on with it!”
“As you wish, love,” he said.
Raymond stole a quick kiss, one that Gwen returned, before turning back to the path.
They had work to do. And he was eager to see it done.
The Present
“Out here again?” Runa asked.
Raymond shook himself into the moment. He had been thinking of Gwen. He was on the caravan, the wastes rolling by as he stood on the second-floor walkway. A metal tankard of mead was on the railing before him, and he took a sip to fully bring himself out of his reverie.
“Am I not allowed to get a bit of fresh air?” he asked. He didn’t turn, knowing who it was. “Those caravans… I swear, they grow stuffier and stuffier with each passing day.”
Runa emerged from the doorway, shutting the door closed behind her. She had a small glass of wine in her hand, taking a sip of it as she came over to Raymond’s side.
“Isn’t it common courtesy for someone to ask if they can join another when they’re alone like this?” Raymond asked with a small smirk, already knowing the answer.
“Perhaps. But considering I know why you’re out here and I also know it’s not doing you a damn bit of good to guzzle ale while you ruminate over the past, I figured a slight breach of courtesy was in order.”
He let out a snort before picking up his ale and taking a long sip.
“I trust that you’re going to be ready for anything that should arise?” Runa asked. “Last thing I need is a captain of the guard who’s so constantly soused that he couldn’t hit an orc’s ass from ten paces away.”
“I know my limits,” he said. “And I know exactly how much I need to get drunk enough to not think.”
“But I need a thinker,” she said. “When Corvan hand-picked me for this mission, he gave me the duty of selecting my own captain of the guard. I didn’t have a moment’s hesitation before knowing you were the one for the job.”
He nodded. “I know. But considering how this mission has turned out so far, I’m not sure that’s any kind of blessing.”
She shook her head. “There you go with that self-pity. Raymond, the duties of a warrior are difficult ones indeed. And they come with a price. I’m sorry that you had to pay it—I truly am. But that doesn’t take one bit away from the importance of our task.”
He turned to her, anger in his eyes. “I wasn’t the one who paid the price, Runa. She was. She paid the price for me.” His tone was whispered but sharp, anger and frustration lining his words. Runa said nothing, letting him speak. “And all of this was for what, him? A human? I still can’t believe that all of this—“ he swept his hand toward the caravan, “—was so that we could bring him back into the world of the living. He’s one human, and we have no idea if he’ll even cast his loyalty with us.”
He took another sip of his beer.
“When you selected me for this mission,” he continued, “I pledged on my life that I would see it through. And I fully intend to make good on that pledge. But…”
Runa raised an eyebrow. “But what?”
“But… I can’t help but feel, truly feel in my bones, that this quest is going to be the doom of the kingdom. I don’t trust this human, Runa. And I don’t believe for a moment that he cares in the slightest about the future of our people.” The disdain he placed on the word human made it clear how low in regard he held them.
Runa listened to his words carefully. And when he was done, she smiled slightly.
“Now, you are aware that it doesn’t matter one good damn how you feel about the mission, correct?”
Raymond opened his mouth to speak, but only let out a wheeze of a laugh as he smiled. Runa was a fine leader, in his opinion, always knowing just what to say in order to get a soldier’s mind right for an order.
“You’re right—it doesn’t matter one bit how I feel. The mission is to find this ranger, bring him back from the dead, and escort his precious ass all the way back to Corvan… then fine—that’s what I’ll do. And I’ll do it with a chipper little smile on my face. But as your second-in-command, I’m obligated to express my thoughts on the mission as we carry it out.”
“And that is typically granted with permission,” she said.
“Or when I deem it necessary.”
“Then what would you have us do, Raymond? Abandon the mission, cast Logan off into a world he barely understands, all to what, save our own ass? Not to mention the little fact that we used the kingdom’s last resurrection stone—perhaps the last one on the continent—to bring him back.”
Raymond said nothing, instead taking another swig of his ale and turning his attention back to the rolling wastes before him.
“I can only guess at what you must feel, Raymond,” she said. “I know what you’ve lost. And she wasn’t what she was to me, for certain. But she was my friend, a warrior who I’ve fought alongside for decades. I won’t pretend to understand the depths of your pain. But she wouldn’t want you to act out of hurt like this. She’d want you to carry on, to see the mission through and ensure that her death wasn’t in vain.”
Raymond couldn’t think of a single thing to say to this. He brought the tankard up to his lips one more time, but Runa’s hand shot out, blocking him from taking his sip.
“The caravan will be stopping shortly, and I’ve got a
better idea than getting drunk out here alone while staring at this dreadful landscape,” she said. “
“You’ve an idea better than drinking?”
She smiled. “One that’s more productive. One that will get you out of your head.”
“And what’s that?”
The grin on her face spread. “We go to the training room. And I kick your ass.”
Runa’s smile was infectious. Raymond couldn’t help but let one spread across his face as well.
“Give me ten minutes of solitude. I’ll meet you there.”
“Very well, oh captain of the guard. Take a few moments to get your head in the right place. Because when I’m done with you, it’ll most certainly be in the wrong one.” She pointed to his ass, Raymond letting out a laugh as he realized what she meant.
“Ten minutes,” he said. “And I’ll meet you there.”
“One more thing.” Without another word, Runa deftly plucked the tankard from Raymond’s hands.
“Is mother not letting me drink?” he asked with a wry tone.
“You’ve had a bit, now it’s only fair for me to have some too. And if you want more, you’re going to have to work for it. We drink after. But loser provides from their personal stash.” She flicked up her eyebrows before popping the top of the tankard. “See you there.”
She stepped through the door mid-swig, and Raymond was once again alone.
He approached the railing and leaned forward, folding his arms over it as he watched the landscape pass. Part of him knew that it was a pointless idea to tarry about and not simply get to the fight. Runa was right—once he was in the middle of a match, he would simply be unable to be in his own head. That was one of the bright points of combat, that it pushed everything else aside and forced you to focus on the moment.
But once he was alone, he found himself back weeks ago, back in the middle of that fateful trek.
The Past
“You planning on eating all of that jerky?” Gwen squatted around the small camp they’d prepared. The camp was simple—more of a place for the group to eat and drink and rest before the final stage of the mission. Not even a fire was permitted for fear of giving away their position to the orcs. The other four men accompanying them were on the other side of the small clearing going through their supplies and sharpening the points of their spears.