War Wizard

by King, DB

  The clenched his fist, the tattoo glowing as he called its power. The urge to rip and tear and maim raced up his spine—but Logan reigned it in. No! he told himself internally, as if bringing a dog to heel.

  With his next breath, the forest’s smells danced on his nose. And the sounds of the forest—birds twittering, a distant trickling stream, insects crunching on leaves—painted a vivid picture in his mind’s eye.

  He smelled the orcs more vividly than ever—and it made him gag.

  “Logan?” Marseille said. “Are you all—”

  “I’m fine,” Logan said. “I can sense the orcs. Smell them, hear them.” He spat. “There are more than two but likely less than six. Scouts, most likely.”

  Logan’s party had the orcs outnumbered, and the element of surprise was on their side.

  He decided it was the perfect opportunity to test the skills of his marked soldiers. He turned to them, Gareth and the rest awaiting his command.

  “Shift now,” Logan said. “Tap into your powers and scatter. Get ready to ambush. When I bring the orcs here, I want you to unleash all the power at your disposal. Take this opportunity to practice your skills, but be wary to conserve your energy where you can. We don’t want you running out before the true battle begins.”

  The elves shared the same look of eagerness—one that suggested that this was an order they were pleased to carry out.

  “Now,” Logan said. “Marseille, I want you to hold back.”

  “What?” she asked. “Four orcs are nothing compared to my blood magic!”

  “Of that, I have no doubt. But I want to give our newly-marked soldiers a chance to practice their powers. Stay back, and if they need your help, give it to them.”

  She pursed her lips and cocked her hips to the side. “Fine, fine. But only because I’ll have the chance for my revenge once we reach the town. All of you would be advised not to stand in my way once I have those who killed my people in sight.”

  “As long as you follow orders,” Logan said. “Now, all of you get into position and shift into your new forms. When I give the command, unleash with whatever you have. And be wary of crossfire.”

  “Yes, commander,” Gareth said.

  “You’re in charge of this operation, Gareth.”

  He seemed to have the spark of leadership in him. Logan was curious to see what he would do with troops of his own. Logan had only a small team of soldiers under his command. However, he knew in time those squads would become armies. Finding soldiers fit to command under him was a priority.

  “Yes, sir,” Gareth said with a bow of his head.

  “Now, move!”

  The soldiers hurried into position, Marseille hanging back as commanded. Logan rushed into a hidden position near one of the thicker-trunked trees, giving the men enough space to set an ambush.

  It didn’t take long before the scent of orc was thick in the air. Heavy footfalls pounded through the forests, leaves dropping from the trees as the enemies approached.

  There were four in total—about what Logan would expect from a patrol. His stomach tingled in anticipation of the orcs’ arrival. By the time they finally came into view, Logan was ready for a battle. Part of him wanted to rescind the order and slay these fools himself—to tear into their throats with the power of the wolf tattoo. But he kept himself in check, knowing it was better for his men to have a chance to practice their abilities and gain more power.

  “Any sign of them?” asked one of the orcs.

  “No. Nothing.”

  The orc at the head of the group, the leader by the look of his tattoos and bone jewelry, stopped and glanced around.

  “They should’ve been back by now,” said another.

  “How the hells would you know that?” asked the orc in charge.

  “Buldock was supposed to go to the fortress, find out what was going on, and return. He was supposed to do what we are doing!”

  “And what good does it do to question orders?” asked the lead orc. “Buramog told us to do the job that Buldock wouldn’t. It doesn’t matter what happened to Buldock.”

  “But we’re leaving the town low on orcs!” said another. “There’s not many of us left.”

  Logan allowed a small smile to form on his face at this news. It sounded like the orc numbers were low, and taking out this scouting party would make the assault on the town even more likely to succeed.

  But Gareth was making Logan nervous. The orcs were in position. While Logan appreciated the intel he was getting from their chatter, the longer he waited, the more likely it was that they’d be found out.

  “The Archspirit at the temple is far more important than that pathetic little town,” said the leader. “And when we finally secure Maar and make him the slave of Buramog, we can raze it to the ground and move on!”

  “What makes you think he’ll listen? We don’t have a Battle Shaman with—”

  “Now!” Gareth’s voice cut through the air.

  Logan watched as Gareth and the rest of the marked elves rose from the foliage, surprise on the faces of the orcs.

  “What… what the hells is this?” shouted the leader.

  “Shift and attack!” Gareth shouted. “Priests, pin them down!”

  Gareth and the soldiers had already shifted into their Naga forms, the elvish spears they still wielded looking like toothpicks in their hands.

  “Hellfire!” an orc swore.

  The words were the last to leave the mouths of any orc.

  The two priests rose, firing serpents from their hands into the mass of the orcs. The orcs cried out in surprise as the snakes sank their teeth into their thick, green flesh. In addition to inflicting venom, the serpents served as a perfect distraction for the brunt of the attack.

  The Naga warriors, towering above the orcs, rushed into the fray as the priests ceased their spells. Gareth led the charge, the Nagas jabbing their spears into the orcs, dark red blood arcing into the sky. The orcs had been taken by such surprise that they barely had time to raise their weapons to defend themselves.

  It was a perfect ambush. The Nagas continued spearing the orcs, their cries of surprise fading into nothing as the life drained from them.

  In a matter of moments, the battle was over.

  “That’s enough!” Logan shouted.

  The serpent-marked obeyed his command, stopping their attack and stepping back from the pile of orc corpses. Marseille formed up at Logan’s side, the two of them approaching the scene of the battle and taking in the sight.

  “They’re dead, alright,” Marseille said. “No one can stand up to the power of Maar’s Nagas.”

  Logan looked up to Gareth, whose serpent face was splattered with orc blood.

  “Good,” the War Wizard said. “A perfect attack.”

  Chapter 20: Logan

  Logan stood among the bodies of the orcs, more blood than green skin visible.

  He couldn’t help but let a small smile take hold at the sight of the slain beasts. As far as he was concerned, the only good orc was a dead orc.

  And there would be many, many more dead orcs before he was done.

  “All of you, shift back to your elf forms,” Logan said. “And Gareth, come speak to me.”

  The soldiers did as commanded, the Nagas turning back into their normal shapes. Gareth approached, his eyes eager and his lip curled a bit. Logan could tell the elf had tasted power—and he’d liked it.

  “Yes, commander?” he asked, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Tell me what it was like to take the form of the Naga. I need to know everything for planning our attack on the town.”

  “It was… powerful. I felt as strong as three elves.”

  Logan glanced down at the bodies of the orcs. “I’d say you were a fair deal stronger than three elves. What else?”

  “I couldn’t see as well. Everything was black and white. But my sense of smell was… incredible. I could detect the scent of orcs from off in the distance. If I didn’t already know
that we were about to assault a town of them, I’d know now.”

  “Snakes are known for their keen sense of smell,” Marseille said. “You might find this useful when scouting.”

  Logan made a mental note of this. He glanced down at the bodies at their feet. The orcish weapons from their victims were a far cry from the fearsome, cleaver-like greatswords Maar had described. But they would be far more useful than the elvish spears.

  “Take what you can from the orcs. And be prepared to find weapons more suitable for your Naga forms.” He glanced at Marseille. “How can we get hold of the Naga greatsword?”

  “You’d have to discuss that with Maar,” she said. “But there were mentions of a great forge in the writings in our town. We could find out more about them once we’ve removed the orc problem.”

  “Grab the weapons, form up, and let’s get moving,” Logan said, turning his eyes to the path toward the town. “I’m ready to finish this.”

  The elves scavenged what weapons they could from the orcs. As they did, Marseille dropped to her knees and picked up one of the orc arrows, the feathers ragged and the head barbed and rusty. With a smile on her face, she came over to Logan and held out the arrow.

  “Take this,” she said. It was clear from the look on her face that she knew something he didn’t.

  Without a word, he took the arrow and held it. It was heavier and far uglier than the light, elegant arrows for which elves were well known. But it was built well enough to get the job done.

  “What do you want me to do with this?” Logan asked. “Hang onto it as a keepsake?”

  She shook her head, continuing to smile. “The marks of the Archspirits don’t only affect living things. Weapons can also be infused with their power. Take this, and transfer the power of your mark into it.”

  Logan flicked his eyes down to the arrow, then back up to her, then down to the arrow. At first, he wasn’t sure what she meant. But then he remembered Arachne telling him how her mark carried the power to infuse weapons with venom, or how she was able to transform Silverfang into a fearsome spider-beast. The War Wizards in his time had infused items with various powers, so this was yet another occasion that he felt his chest blossom with pride at being like his father and those wizards of old.

  He closed his eyes and focused, picturing Maar’s mark in his mind’s eye. The image became clearer and clearer, and soon it was as clear as if he were looking at the actual tattoo on his forearm. He felt the power gather at the mark, then move down his arm and into his hand, then into the arrow.

  “There,” she said. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” Logan opened his eyes. “It looks the same as it did before.”

  “But it’s different. Place it in your bow and shoot it.”

  Logan gave her a skeptical glance before pulling his bow from his back and loading the arrow. The elves watched as he nocked the arrow and took aim at a tree twenty or so paces away from where he stood. He aimed, closed one eye, and loosed.

  The arrow launched, and as it zipped through the air it changed into something long and dark—and alive. The thing connected with the tree, and when it was still he could see what had happened.

  The arrow had changed into a snake. It hung from the tree, wriggling where its fangs were connected to the bark.

  “Like the power of the priests,” Marseille said with a gasp as she stepped over to the snake. “I did not know what the mark would do, but it is clearly powerful. This will allow you to inflict venom from afar, or to simply create confusion and chaos in the ranks of your enemies.”

  She reached the snake and extended her arm, pulling the creature from the tree and letting it crawl along her shoulders. It coiled around her neck before traveling down her body, vanishing into the grass.

  “That… could come in handy,” Logan said.

  “No doubt it will,” Marseille said. “If there are six of us and a whole lot more orcs in the town, we’re going to need every advantage we can get.”

  “Right,” Logan replied. “I want this operation to be swift and efficient. We’re not going to lose another soldier if I have anything to say about it.”

  Marseille smiled. “Then let’s get moving. I don’t want my people to suffer in fear for any longer than they need to.”

  Logan gestured for the elves to form up. When they did, the party continued making their way through the woods.

  It wasn’t long before they reached the edge of the town, the brick buildings visible in the distance past the tree line. The sun had dipped even lower into the sky, only the barest sliver of light remaining. Stars twinkled above through the breaks in the canopy, the moon nearly full.

  It would be a fine night for a battle. And they wouldn’t have long to wait before it began.

  Logan found a vantage point. Marseille took her place in foliage next to him.

  “Tell me about the layout of the town,” he said.

  “It’s been here for a long time,” she said. “A thousand years, perhaps, maybe longer. And I know it well. There are thirty-four buildings in total, most of them houses. There are, were, only a few dozen of us, which meant we had more than enough space. But the town, at one point, was far more than what you see.”

  In time, it will be that way again, Logan thought. That didn’t have much bearing on the current situation, however.

  “Those who remain are in the church,” she said. “Assuming they haven’t moved them.”

  “Why the church?”

  “It’s the most solid, secure building. One main entrance that’s easily guarded. Assuming they keep an eye on it nonstop, there’s no way any of them could get out.” She smiled. “That’s assuming none of the orcs bothered to find out about the secret exit.”

  “The church has a secret exit?”

  The smile stayed on her face, as if she couldn’t have been more excited to tell Logan what she knew.

  “At the main altar, there is a lever that moves it aside. Below is a stone staircase that leads under the town and to the outskirts. Whoever built this town years ago must’ve needed some way to make a quick escape.”

  “That could come in handy,” Logan said. “In fact, it could be the deciding factor of the battle.”

  “May I offer a suggestion?” she asked.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “One of us makes our way into the town through the tunnel into the church. Once there, the volunteer leads the hostages through and to safety.”

  “Why haven’t they already used the tunnel?” Logan asked.

  “Likely due to the patrols in the woods. And where would they go? Wander through the Graysmoke Woods until they starved or were caught by orcs? Capture would inform the orcs of the existence of the exit, after all.”

  She smiled, reaching down into the waist of her pants and removing something. She held it up. It was a small, golden key. “There’s also this. As a priestess, I was entrusted with one of the keys to the tunnel.”

  “And that makes you the natural volunteer for the mission.”

  “That’s right,” she said with a smile.

  Logan glanced toward the town, watching the orcs on patrol move from here to there.

  “A straight-ahead attack would endanger the lives of your people,” he said. “It would be wise to wait until we have the church secured before we begin the assault.”

  “That’s right,” she said, still holding up the key. “In that case, shall I begin?”

  Logan’s eyes went to the key. Before Marseille had a chance to react, he plucked it from her hand.

  “What?” she asked, her eyes going wide as soon as she realized what had happened. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re not doing this alone. I’m coming with you.” He turned to Gareth. “Do you feel ready to take command?”

  He smiled. “More than ready.”

  Logan could sense his eagerness. “Then the plan is this. Gareth, you’re in charge while Marseille and I travel through the secret tunnel. You a
nd the rest of the soldiers will take cover, making sure to stay out of sight. When the prisoners are secured, we’ll give a signal.”

  “What sort of signal?” he asked.

  Logan turned back toward the church. There was a tall, stone spire that rose from the center of the roof.

  “What’s at the top of that?” Logan asked Marseille.

  “The ritual flame, of course,” she said.

  “And it still works?”

  “Certainly.”

  “When the flame illuminates, I want the priests to begin firing into the town,” Logan said. “Take out as many orcs as you can, and create as much chaos as possible. And when I give the signal, Gareth and the rest of the warriors will charge the town. Understood?”

  Gareth and the rest of the men gave nods.

  “Now, take cover and await the sign,” Logan said. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you all perform in a real battle.”

  The men didn’t waste a moment before taking cover among the trees. Elves were nearly as skilled at evasion as Elderwood Rangers. Logan had total faith in their ability to maintain cover while he and Marseille entered the town.

  And there was no time to waste. Logan nodded to Marseille, and she followed alongside him as they began their trek through the woods.

  “Where is this place exactly?” Logan asked.

  “Off the beaten path,” she said. “Well hidden away from prying eyes.”

  They kept along the route that led back toward the fortress. After a time, Marseille stopped.

  “Here,” she said, gesturing to a massive tree that appeared split in two, both sides growing up and in opposite directions. “We leave the path at the split tree. Come.”

  She took Logan’s hand and led him further into the woods. They stepped carefully over the brush, making their way to places unknown.

  “You know, Logan,” she said. “The rest of my people will be most grateful when we’ve freed them. I and the other priestesses have ways of showing gratitude that I think you’ll be most interested in.”

  It didn’t take much consideration to know what she was getting at.

  “We can think about that after we’ve secured the town,” Logan said.