War Wizard

by King, DB

  “Trust me,” she said with a sly smile. “I’ll be thinking about it. And I can’t wait for the rest of the women to meet the War Wizard who managed to impress our master so deeply.”

  Logan let out a snort-laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Marseille. We’ve got more important matters to worry about.”

  “What can I say?” she asked. “You have a way of putting my mind in the gutter. How could I not have such thoughts with a man like you at my side?”

  Logan snorted again, shaking his head as they ventured further into the woods.

  “And there it is,” Marseille said after a time.

  “What? Where?”

  She flashed him a smile before taking off, hurrying over to the massive trunk of a fallen tree.

  “It’s at the base…” Marseille squatted down and began pulling away branches and leaves, tossing them into the air behind her, “…right here!”

  Logan stepped over to her and squatted down. Sure enough, a wooden entrance had been hidden underneath the leaves.

  But the lock was broken.

  “What?” she asked, grabbing the wrought-iron handle and pulling the panel up. “How…”

  “The orcs must’ve found it,” Logan said.

  She said nothing, only nodding in agreement. Worry was heavy on her face, her brow knitted.

  “Is there a way they could get to the town through the tunnel without the key?” Logan asked.

  “There’s a heavy door halfway down the tunnel. It’s made of thick wood, but…” she trailed off, as if knowing the conclusion without needing to say it.

  “If there’s one thing orcs are good at,” Logan said. “It’s smashing things. And I can smell their scent coming from down there. They haven’t long found this place.”

  “Then we need to move. If they let the rest of the orcs know, then this plan will be done before it even gets off the ground.”

  “Come on—we don’t have a second to waste.”

  Logan held open the hatch, revealing a rope ladder that led down into a darkened path. Without hesitating for a moment, Marseille launched herself down onto the ladder and began her descent. Logan followed her, his skin tingling at the possibility of fighting a battle in such close quarters.

  Once they reached the bottom, he spotted a flickering flame far down the straight, stone tunnel.

  “That must be them,” Logan said, his voice quiet.

  “Right. If we do this carefully, we can catch up with them and have the element of surprise.”

  “Come on.”

  They made their way down the tunnel, the scent of musty mildew in the air. The tunnel was compact—wide enough for three people walking abreast, tall enough to give Logan a few inches of space above his head. No doubt the orcs were cramped.

  “How the hells are we meant to get past this?” the gruff voice of an orc carried down the hall. Logan gave the signal for Marseille to stop, which she did.

  “It’s a door, you idiot! Smash through it!”

  “What about this lock here? Looks like there’s a hole for a key. The last one took us bloody ages to get through.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to do it again. For all we know, there could be treasure lurking behind this door. Don’t you like treasure?”

  There was a greedy laugh at that.

  There were two voices. Two orcs seemed like a fight Logan and Marseille could easily win. But the close quarters added a new element. It would be hard to maneuver in such a space.

  “We should go back and let the rest of them know what we found,” the first orc said.

  “How stupid are you? If we go back then the boss will demand to know why we didn’t finish the job and find out where the door leads.”

  “This direction,” said the other orc. “It’s like we’re going back under the town.”

  “All the more reason, idiot. What if this is some sort of escape tunnel and the townsfolk manage to use it to sneak out? We’d be flayed alive for letting this slip.”

  “Fine, fine. But what if we can’t get through this door?”

  “Simple. We go back to town and request guard duty for the church. Once we have the townsfolk alone, we cut off fingers until we get some answers.”

  The other orc chuckled. “Now you’re making this sound fun.”

  “That’s because it will be fun. The boss wants this town razed by sundown tomorrow, anyway. Not like they’re going to need their fingers for much longer.”

  Logan glanced over at Marseille, whose face was contorted in anger. He held up his palm, signaling for her to keep her rage in check. At least, for now.

  “I’m sick of this town,” said the other orc. “I wish we could burn it tonight.”

  “Have some patience, will you? We burn it tomorrow, then the boss sends a message to the rest of the horde. We move into the fortress, and control the region from there.”

  “Too much work.”

  “That’s why you’re a grunt and not a leader. You’re only thinking of the killing you can do now. The chieftains know that if we take the fortress, we’ll have a base we can use to terrorize the region. Think of all the slaves we’ll have in a few months.”

  “A few months? Might as well be a lifetime.”

  “Fool. Shut up and knock this door down.”

  So that was the plan. If the orcs couldn’t bring Maar into their fold, they’d take the fortress and use it as a base of operations. If they managed to occupy it, dislodging them from the region would be nearly impossible.

  A thud-thud-thud began to echo down the hall.

  “It’s too thick!”

  “Keep hitting it! It’s just wood!”

  Logan and Marseille continued down, eventually spotting the two orcs in front of a tall, arched door. One of the orcs held a torch, the other an axe that he slammed over and over again into the door in front of him.

  “This is impossible!” the orc with the axe said.

  “No, you’re just a weakling. Take this!”

  He shoved the torch in the direction of the other orc, who took it after tucking his axe away.

  “Will they be able to get through that?” Logan asked quietly.

  “Depends on how persistent they are. But I don’t want to give them the chance to find out.”

  Logan nodded. “You take the one with the torch, I take the other.”

  “Finally,” she said.

  Grim determination on her face, Marseille withdrew her sword from the hilt and dragged the blade across her palm, adding one more cut to the dozens of others that crisscrossed her skin. She closed her eyes and flicked the blood into an arc in front of her.

  “Come on!” shouted the watching orc. “We don’t have all bloody day!”

  Before the orc with an axe could have a chance to respond, he clasped his head and began moaning, the axe falling to the floor.

  “What… what’s going on?” he growled, bending over and grabbing at his head. “It’s like something’s trying to break out of my—“

  He didn’t finish. A wet pop sounded, bits of red shooting through the air and landing on the door, the walls, and the orc standing next to the unfortunate victim. Blood shot up in a thick jet from the now-headless orc as he dropped to his knees and collapsed.

  “What the hells?” spoke the other, clearly dumbfounded by what he’d witnessed.

  “Effective,” Logan said to Marseille. “But there’s something to be said for taking an orc with your bare hands.”

  She offered a smirk in response. “Be my guest.”

  Logan pulled the axe from his belt as he broke out into a run, closing the distance between him and the orc. The creature’s surprised face was covered in his companion’s dark blood. Logan let out a war cry as he rushed toward the orc, who had just enough time to pull his mean-looking sword from its leather scabbard and raise it to deflect.

  Logan brought the axe down hard enough to send the orc stumbling backward, the beast’s huge body slamming against the door. He didn’t have t
ime to recover before Logan swiped the axe horizontally, slicing across his belly and spilling out some of its blood to match his friend’s. The orc dropped his sword in surprise, putting his hands on his wound.

  It was the last mistake the orc would make.

  Logan jabbed the top point of the axe into the orc’s right eye with a quick strike, destroying the eye and leaving the beast open for a final swipe across its neck. The orc gurgled as the blood poured out, its body slumping. A few pumps of its heart jetted more blood onto its chest, and then it was dead.

  Logan bent over and grabbed the torch from the ground, holding it up in Marseille’s direction.

  “Impressive,” she said. “For hand-to-hand combat.”

  “Your blood magic is… unique. But in my opinion, it’s important to get up close and personal with those you kill.”

  “That’s certainly one way to look at it. Although I imagine it won’t be long before you have spells with which to destroy your enemies from a distance.” She stopped in front of the door, giving it a once-over. “It appears those idiot beasts didn’t do too much damage. A few more of their lunk-headed attacks, and they might’ve broken through, however.” Without wasting another moment, she took the key out of her waistband and slipped it into the heavy lock. With a turn, it clicked and opened.

  Logan pushed the door, which led to the other half of the tunnel.

  “Come on,” Marseille said. “I’m eager to get to my people.”

  Without another word, they hurried down the hall. A stone stairwell appeared in the distance, and Logan’s heart raced as they approached. The fight with the two orcs had readied him for battle. He was more than eager to slaughter those still in the town.

  “Here,” Marseille said as they reached the stairs. “I’ll go first. It’ll do them good to see a familiar face.”

  Logan nodded, gesturing for her to travel up the stairs. She hurried past him, the torchlight illuminating another door up at the top. Once Marseille had reached it, he made his way up the stairs behind her. She placed her hands on the door and pushed, the door giving way and a thick band of light flooding the stairwell. It took a moment for Logan’s eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw that the stairs opened to a stone building that he had no doubt was the church.

  Marseille stepped into the building, and he followed her. She stood stunned when she emerged.

  Torches along the walls illuminated the interior. Stained glass windows, adorned with the golden visage of Maar, glinted gently. Red carpets led to an altar, behind which a statue of Maar towered over the church. Dry blood stained the statue’s feet, and the whole place smelled of iron and incense. People were gathered there, men and women all dressed in dirty clothing, faraway expressions on their faces.

  No one said anything for a time. Finally, one of the women—a lithe, athletic woman covered in tattoos like Marseille’s—rose.

  “Is… Is that you?” the woman said.

  The shock faded from Marseille’s face, and she beamed broadly. “It is I, my family!”

  She rushed over to the group, hugs breaking out all around. But it didn’t take long before all eyes turned to Logan.

  “Marseille, who is he?” asked one of the women.

  “That’s Logan, the one who saved me,” Marseille began. “He’s…”

  Logan held up his hand. “We don’t need to get into that right now. For the time being, we need to make sure all of you get to safety.”

  “Right,” Marseille said. “Maar’s fortress has been secured and…”

  Another one of the priestesses’ eyes lit. “You’ve been to Maar’s fortress? Did you—”

  “Yes!” Marseille cried, unable to contain her excitement. “He’s back!”

  Excited chatter broke out among the group. But Logan didn’t waste any time before holding up his palm and calling out, “Silence!” That got the group’s attention, every one of them turning in his direction.

  “We don’t have time for any of this. Right now, our priority is to get all of you to sa—”

  “Guaaards!” The booming voice of an orc cut through the air. “We’re under attack!”

  Logan and Marseille shared an expression of shock and concern, neither of them having a doubt that this didn’t bode well.

  “The tower,” Marseille said. “Let’s move, now.”

  She nodded into the direction of another staircase that led up. She began running up the stairs, and Logan followed her. This staircase was much longer than the first, spiraling high into the sky and terminating in a square room with four windows that looked in all directions. From there, Logan could see the entire town, the fortress rising in the distance. A brazier was there—no doubt the flame that Marseille had mentioned.

  But the sight down below made it clear that there would be no need to signal Gareth and the rest of the troops—the fight was already on.

  From his vantage point, Logan could see the orcs gathered in two rows, archers in the back firing into the trees, warriors brandishing axes and swords in front. They were using tactics, and tactics meant that there was an orc in charge.

  “Damn,” Logan said, anger boiling inside of him. “The elves must’ve been discovered.”

  “And they’re being pinned down,” Marseille said. “Likely using the orcs to thin the ranks of your men before rushing in for the kill.”

  “That means it’s only a matter of time.” Logan scanned the orcs, spotting a tall one in back adorned with the usual gaudy garb that suggested he was the one in charge. He was covered in tattoos and studded leather armor, a giant skull from some beast on each shoulder serving as his pauldrons.

  Logan would have to take him out.

  “What’s your plan, Logan?” Marseille asked.

  “We need a distraction to get my men out of harm’s way. Lucky for us, I can think of two. Are your priestesses capable of fighting?”

  She nodded. “Some seemed to be in rougher shape than others. And though they bear the amateur marks of Maar, they aren’t nearly as powerful as I am—they would not have been held captive for so long if they were. But I’m sure at least a few could be useful.”

  “This is the plan—you go down to your people and find who’s fit for battle. When I give the signal, you bring them up here and lead them against the right flank of the archers. Take out as many as you can, create as much confusion and chaos as possible.”

  “Bring them up here?”

  “The exit doors are barricaded, no? We’ll have to do an… aerial attack, then.”

  “Logan, I sure as hells hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Don’t worry about it. But make sure you’re ready soon. We can’t wait much longer.”

  “And those who aren’t fit for battle?”

  “Pick one to lead them out through the tunnel. Don’t put anyone’s life at risk unnecessarily.”

  This answer brought a smile to her lips. But it didn’t last long.

  “Wait, what about you?” Marseille asked.

  “I’ll be giving the signal. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

  “Got it. Good luck, Logan. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “That goes for you, too.”

  She smiled one last time before rushing down the stairs. Logan watched as the orc archers continued to fire into the woods, his stomach tensing at each volley. He could sense they were shooting for suppression purposes and not accuracy, but there was still the risk of losing men.

  Part of him wanted to imbue an arrow with Maar’s power and fire it at the orcs. But at his distance, there was little chance of hitting a target. Not to mention that it would give away his location.

  “Logan!” Marseille shouted from down below. “We’re ready!”

  “Then come!” Logan yelled back. “Now!”

  Logan clenched his hands into fists, eager for the fight. Moments passed, and soon a team of four priestesses, Marseille included, ascended the stairs and joined him up top. The other women were dressed in the same garb
as Marseille and of similar build, with lithe, athletic bodies and tawny skin, their muscles lean and toned. They regarded him with intrigued curiosity. But he didn’t have time to answer any questions.

  “Your command?” Marseille asked.

  “Scale down the roof and drop. Once down, attack. I’ll be joining you shortly.”

  “Ready, girls?” Marseille asked as she raised her blade.

  The cries of the priestesses filled the air, and Logan watched as the four women rushed down, scaling the angled roof of the church. The climb down wasn’t an easy one, the priestesses moving slowly so as not to fall. But it did the job—shock appeared on the faces of the orcs as they watched the priestesses drop down from the edge of the roof.

  “What the hells!” shouted the orc commander. “How did they get out?” As if realizing it was a pointless question to ask, he stuck out his hand toward the priestesses. “Fire at them! Don’t let them cast their magic!”

  The archers turned, but it was too late for them to get off a volley before Marseille and her companions could cut their hands and prepare their blood magic spells. The heads of two orcs popped, showering their other orcs with gore.

  Arrows sailed through the air, one sticking into the arm of a priestess. The element of surprise was over, but the chaos Logan had wanted had been inflicted on the orcs. He turned and pulled a piece of flint from his bag, starting a fire and setting the signal light aflame.

  But he still had more work to do before Gareth and his men closed the distance. He climbed over the stone wall of the church tower, setting his sights on the commander. He was gathered with the melee warriors around him in a circle, the archers taking cover behind buildings and firing in random, uncoordinated directions.

  Logan decided to try something new. He closed his eyes, focusing on Maar’s rune. He felt armor-like scales spread across his body. Next, he switched to Arachne’s rune, allowing spines to stick out of his hands. He wanted to hurry down the roof, and this struck him as the best way to do it.

  He launched himself over the side of the tower, getting into all-fours and using his spider spines to scale the roof much more quickly than the priestesses had been able. One of the orcs spotted him and fired an arrow in his direction. The shot was accurate, but the rough barb of the orcish arrowhead wasn’t enough to pierce his armored scales.