War Wizard

by King, DB

  Logan met with Runa and Raymond.

  “It’s time to move,” he said. “I’ll be taking Arachne, Marseille, and a dozen soldiers north.”

  “Very well,” Runa said. “We’ll stay here, replenish our water supplies, and await word.”

  “Give word as soon as you have new information,” Raymond said to Logan, his tone gruff. “Sitting around waiting for your little field trip to return isn’t exactly how I want to spend my time.”

  Logan considered offering Raymond to come with. But the elf’s place was there with his people. Not to mention that if there was an attack, the troops would need him and Runa.

  “We’ll make haste,” Logan said. “Marseille will lead the way.”

  “Unless she’s leading you into a trap,” Raymond said. “But I suppose you’ll find out the hard way, if that’s the case.”

  “Good luck, Logan,” Runa said. “I’ll be eager to hear of what you learn.”

  There was nothing more to be said. Logan nodded to both of them and took his leave. Marseille, Arachne, and Silverfang, and a dozen soldiers—three assassins, three summoners, and six unmarked—waited for him.

  “No supplies?” Jaleth asked, looking around and noting that not one of the soldiers had anything more than his weapons and a small pack for a waterskin and enough dried meat for the day.

  “We won’t need supplies,” Marseille said with a smile. “The town of Edgewood takes no more than a day’s travel. Once we reach there, we’ll be welcomed with open arms. The rest of the priestesses are there, too. From there, we can venture to the rune of Maar. All we need, Ranger, is for you to lead us through the woods.”

  Logan glanced over at the soldiers. He noticed that all were keeping their distance from Marseille. Word must have traveled fast about her blood magic and its gory, explosive power. While she was dressed in her priestess’ robes, she wore them in a manner that every red-blooded male found alluring. A curved blade hung at her hip.

  “And from there, where is the place of power for Maar? The rune?” Logan asked.

  “An old fortress near the town. Once we arrive in Edgewood and have time to rest, we’ll be able to continue on tonight, or in the morning—if that’s more agreeable to you.”

  “We can decide once we’re there,” Logan said. “For now, let’s move.”

  He was eager as hells to be on their way. And he could sense that the rest of the group felt the same.

  As she mounted Silverfang, Arachne cast a skeptical glance at Marseille, then back at Logan. The message seemed to be, “I’ll be keeping an eye on her. You’d be wise to do the same.”

  Logan grit his teeth as they began their trek. He wasn’t looking forward to managing the various rivalries of the Archspirits and their devotees. But such territory came with being a War Wizard.

  Hours melted by as they made their way through the forest, the towering trees shooting up so high that they could hardly see their tops. And Marseille spent the time speaking to Logan in eager tones about the town, about what sort of reception they might expect.

  “They’ll be thrilled to know that I’ve succeeded in my task, Logan,” she said, a sly smile on her face. “To learn that I managed to return with the last War Wizard… we couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.”

  “I have to ask, priestess,” Arachne said. “I was there when you used your powers, your blood magic, on those bandits. How did you manage to get caught if you have such abilities at your disposal?”

  Marseille appeared embarrassed. “I… yes, I have great power thanks to Maar. Unfortunately, I’m not one for the outdoor life. I chose a poor spot to make my camp, and…”

  Arachne grinned broadly. “And you were kidnapped while you slept?”

  “That’s the story.”

  Arachne laughed. “Then we need to get you back to your people after all, no? You don’t seem to be cut out for life on the road.”

  “Enough, Arachne,” Logan said. “But she’s right—we need to get to your people and Maar’s fortress as soon as we can. Once there we can summon Maar, correct?”

  Marseille nodded. “With your help, I’m sure it can be done. The other devotees… Many of them have lost their faith. But once they see you—that will change everything.”

  Arachne watched from atop Silverfang, one eye on Marseille and one eye on the forest ahead.

  “Tell me about this town,” Logan said. “I want to know what to expect.”

  “Certainly. The town of Edgewood was a lumber town, one that carved out an existence felling the mighty Spirewood trees of the forest.”

  “Was?” Arachne asked. “What happened to the original inhabitants, priestess?”

  “It was abandoned when the orcish hordes invaded centuries ago,” she said. “I’ll ignore the implication that my people had something to do with their disappearance. When Maar left us all those years ago, my people wandered the continent trying to find any trace of him. It was only luck, and careful following of the writings he gifted us, that led us to his place of power.”

  “And tell me more about this place of power,” Logan said. “It’s in the town?”

  “Near the town,” she said. “An abandoned fortress, one that—as the legends said—was a fortification built by the War Wizards before your time, Logan, thousands upon thousands of years ago.”

  “A fortress?” Logan was intrigued.

  “The War Wizards had them all across Varsyth,” she said. “Fortifications where they could rest and replenish themselves as they made their way from one conflict to another. Some War Wizards even ruled from these fortresses, working with local lords and mayors to keep peace over regions. They were all built over places of power, sacred lands where the Archspirits were their strongest. This one was for Maar.”

  “The War Wizards were only in the Elderwood,” Logan countered. “They never ventured outside of the Elderwood Rangers’ domain.”

  “Perhaps that was so when you lived, but centuries before you were born, it was so. The War Wizards had their fingers in pies all across Varsyth and beyond. The ancient writings, of which I have managed to find a few scrolls, depict a world where War Wizards vied for control. But they were defeated, and the last remnants chose to keep to themselves in the Elderwood.”

  “I never knew this,” Logan said. There was so much he didn’t know. So much of what it meant to be a War Wizard that he would have to discover for himself. He was the last of his kind, and in some strange way, it was also like being the first.

  “Would you like me to continue, or do you need more time to ponder what I have said?” Marseille asked.

  “No,” Logan said, putting his questions aside for the moment. “Go on.”

  “We moved into the town near the fortress of Maar and made it ours. But Maar never spoke to us, no matter how much we prayed at his place of power. He did, however, grant us some small vestige of his power, as you have seen through my magics. Even this, however, did not bolster the devotion of those with weak faith. Many gave up hope, took Maar’s apparent silence as a sign that he had abandoned us. But I never gave up. How could a spirit abandon their faithful? The War Wizards had the greatest access to the Archspirits, and we believed for so long that the wizards had sole access to them. In my travels south, I discovered something in some minor shrines to Maar and other spirits. There are legends of another magic, one that would allow access to Archspirits and Gods without a War Wizard. There were only pieces of the practice here and there, so I could not gather any real information. It was when I had just left a shrine of Maar that I was captured by the orcs, and my guards slain.”

  It was an interesting story. But Logan’s mind focused on the fortification. Could it be big enough, secure enough, for the caravan to occupy? What of the woods? Could they be used as a resource? Could this land support them with farming?

  Once Logan was done fulfilling his duty to King Corvan of the Tyan Kingdom, he would need somewhere to establish himself. Somewhere he could set up a base of operations
from which to carry out his total destruction of orcs and all those foul fiends who burned the Elderwoods and wiped out his people.

  And a fortification, one safe from the orcs, would be just the place to do it. And if a town was nearby, all the better. There was, of course, the matter of helping the King of Tyan, but when that was done, Logan would need somewhere permanent to live, a place to build an army so he could carry out his vengeance upon the orc blight.

  “Let’s stay focused,” Logan said. “We have a day ahead of us.”

  They continued, marching in silence as Marseille led the way. As the sun began to sink low in the sky, great beams of orange light cutting through the spaces between the trees, Logan could sense the soldiers were wondering just where this journey would lead them.

  “Wait,” Jaleth said, pointing ahead. “What is that?”

  Logan narrowed his eyes to see what the elf assassin was referring to. Up ahead, a figure lay among the trees.

  “Is that a person?” asked another one of the soldiers.

  “Let me find out,” Marseille said. “Could be one of our town hunters sleeping on the job. They’re… known to do that on mild days like today.”

  Without waiting for a word, she took off into a trot deeper into the woods. The figure was fifty paces or so ahead, and when she reached it, she dropped to knees.

  Logan could sense by the shocked look on her face that, whatever she was seeing, it wasn’t good.

  “Hold fast until I give further orders,” Logan commanded Arachne and the troops. “And stay on guard.”

  Jaleth and the rest of the soldiers spread out in a circle, taking cover behind the trees. Arachne remained atop Silverfang, her eyes on the woods as she stroked his mane.

  Without wasting another second, Logan rushed over to Marseille.

  “What is it?” he asked. But he didn’t need her to respond.

  The figure on the ground was a man, his eyes wide in fear, a red swath cut across his chest, the wound so deep that his glistening entrails were visible through the opening.

  “This… this was one of our hunters,” Marseille said, gently resting his head on the ground before closing his eyes with a sweep of her palm over his face.

  “That wound is still fresh,” Logan said, squatting down and getting a closer look. “That means whoever did it is—“

  “—still near,” she said. “We need to move. We need to get to Edgewood.”

  Again not waiting for Logan to say a word, Marseille sprang up and rushed forward deeper into the woods.

  “Hells,” Logan hissed to himself.

  He turned to Arachne, gesturing for her and the rest of the troops to move ahead. Moments later, they formed up around him. The eyes of each soldier went to the slain hunter on the ground.

  “One quick, clean kill,” Arachne said. “Well, as clean as a wound like that can be.”

  “What are you thinking, Commander?” Jaleth asked Logan.

  “I’m thinking that we might have a warm welcome at Edgewood to look forward to.” Logan turned his attention to the woods, in the direction that Marseille had run. “There’s a good chance we’re going to be encountering danger here. I’m going to catch up with Marseille. Arachne, mount Silverfang and take point. Keep me in sight. The rest of you form up around her and be ready to fight. Keep your eyes on the trees.”

  Jaleth and the rest of the soldiers nodded, pressing their fists against their chests to signal that they’d understood the command.

  Logan didn’t wait another moment before taking off through the woods. He tapped into his wolf spirit, the tattoo illuminating as he ran. He avoided shifting into his wulver form because he did not want to ruin his armor when they might still have many battles to fight in this expedition. Even so, the woods became a blur around him as he ran, his boots crunching and snapping the branches beneath them.

  Marseille soon appeared in the distance. She dropped to her knees again, and Logan sensed right away what she’d found. He started to approach, but he didn’t get a chance to close the distance. When he was fifty or so paces away, an arrow zipped through the woods and hit the trunk of a nearby tree with a thick thwack.

  “Marseille!” Logan shouted. “Down!”

  She dropped and so did Logan, arrow after arrow shooting through the air above them. When he reached her, crawling through the woods arm-over-arm, he saw that she’d found another hunter’s body, this one as brutally slain as the other.

  Logan threw his arm over her body as the arrows flew above them. The pace of the arrows was slow, and he guessed that there were no more than three archers shooting at a steady pace. The arrows stopped, and he looked over Marseille to make sure she was unharmed.

  But as the silence returned to the woods, she narrowed her eyes and spoke. “Whoever they are, they killed my people. These are my lives to take.”

  “Wait for my command,” Logan said.

  She didn’t. Marseille stood, and he watched as three huge shapes emerged from the trees in front of her.

  Orcs.

  Smiles spread across their ugly faces as they took in the sight of her.

  “This one’s not a man,” said one orc.

  “Good,” said another. “Better things to do with her than just kill.”

  Marseille, fearless, took the blade from her hip and drew the edge across her hand. A red line of blood formed, and she whipped it onto the ground in front of her.

  “Me first,” said one of the orcs. “I like to watch them scream when I—”

  He didn’t finish. Marseille raised her hand and clasped it into a fist. A massive chunk of the speaking orc’s chest exploded as surely as if a huge arrow had blasted through it. He stopped where he stood, looking down at the new hole where his chest had been. Jagged rib bones stuck out here and there, blood dripping from the top.

  He dropped.

  Before the other orcs had a chance to react, Marseille moved with speed and agility that was inhuman.

  A snake, Logan thought. She’s moving like a snake.

  She slithered up the body of one of the orcs, stopping when she was seated on his shoulders, her legs wrapped around his neck. With a hiss, her eyes glowing red, she plunged the curved blade into his chest over and over, blood spurting out of the wounds.

  The other orc came to his senses as his companion was perforated over and over. He drew his blade and prepared to strike at Marseille from behind. Logan rose, pulling his own blade out and taking the orc by surprise. By the time the beast realized what was happening, Logan had already plunged the point of his sword through its neck. The orc gurgled, dark blood trickling from its mouth.

  Logan pulled the blade out, and the orc fell. Marseille’s orc collapsed just as surely. Her chest rose and fell, her eyes still glowing red.

  “Don’t you ever disobey an order of mine,” Logan said, stepping toward her. “You understand?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not one of your soldiers. And these are my people whose corpses you’re stepping over.”

  “Then unless you want to meet the same fate as them, you’re going to need my help. And if you’re accepting my help, you accept my command. Understand?”

  She said nothing, her eyes still narrowed as she stared at him for a few moments.

  “Understood,” she said finally. “But the town…”

  Logan nodded. “Let’s move. The rest are behind us.”

  He glanced over his shoulder to see Arachne and the soldiers approaching from a distance. Logan gave a gesture to follow behind. Once that was done, Marseille and Logan took off through the woods.

  It took only a few minutes of running before they reached the town’s border. A few dozen cottages and stone buildings were situated bordering a lake.

  And there were bodies everywhere, orcs standing among them, a huge fire roaring in the center of the town.

  “They killed them all,” Marseille said in a quiet, pained voice.

  Logan said nothing. She was right. They’d come too late.


  “You’ll have your vengeance,” Logan said. “But first, we need to move. I don’t plan to join the dead this day.”

  Chapter 16: Logan

  Rage boiled behind Marseille’s eyes. Her nails dug so deeply into her palms that she drew blood.

  “Priestess,” Logan growled. “We need to leave. Now.”

  “I could kill them all,” she said, her tone grave. “I could pop their heads one-by-one, leave the rest to die in agony from my worst poisons.”

  Logan liked her spirit, he had to admit.

  “You could not,” Arachne said to the serpent priestess. “You’ve already expended so much of your power. I can see that. Had you a true mark, given by a War Wizard, maybe you could do half as much of what you intend. But now, as it stands, you are weak.”

  “And choosing to fight in a situation where it was one-against-several-dozen would be a terrible tactical decision,” Logan added before he grasped Marseille’s arm. “You’ll have your chance to kill them,” he said, his tone hushed. “But right now, we need to get to safety and plan our next move.”

  The priestess’ gaze was locked onto the town, murder behind her narrowed eyes. For a moment, Logan feared she might go rogue, rush into the town, and take her revenge single-handedly. And almost certainly losing her life in the process.

  But she didn’t. Marseille tore her stare from the violence before her.

  “You’re right. But promise me—we’ll return and kill every last one of these animals.”

  “You have my word. But when we kill, we kill with a plan.”

  She nodded, glancing away.

  “What about this fortress?” Arachne hissed. “I’m sure it would be a very useful place to claim and strike from.”

  Marseille nodded. “Perhaps. But no one has stepped foot inside of it in years. And there are rumors of traps and beasts that lurk within.”