Freelance Heroics (Firesign Book 2)

by Stephen W. Gee

  The racket of their stampeding feet echoed through the empty streets as they drew closer to the edge of town. The squads began to split off, one after another darting down side streets and spreading out. It reminded Mazik of one of his favorite spells, Mazik Missiles—they all originated at one point, spread out, and would then converge together on a single spot. They didn’t know if the orcks had breached the walls yet—they were rushing too quickly to stop for updates—so they weren’t taking chances. They would enclose the area and converge from all sides.

  At Sergeant Redsna’s signal, his squad veered down an alley and away from the main group, their speed increasing as they left the slower knights of the Jihnsruckian army behind. As one of the last squads to split away, they turned again only a few streets later and ran parallel to the main force.

  As they got closer, Mazik could hear the sounds of combat impinging on the city’s unnatural quiet. There was a whiff of smoke, the burnt ozone of explosive spells, and the stink of something organic and foul.

  The sixth barreled down the streets, darkened doors flashing past. Sergeant Redsna raised a hand, signaling for them to slow. Together, they slowed to a trot, then quietly slunk to the end of the alley. They could already tell that something was on fire ahead, from the warm light washing over their faces.

  Weaving around people, Mazik slipped to the front of the group. Together with the sergeant and one other, he peered into the city square that would give them a clear view of the distant walls. It was then that Mazik and the others learned what having the home-field advantage, in sports terms, meant when you were fighting orcks.

  It meant they had more homes to destroy.

  The orcks had indeed breached the walls, the tip of a discarded battering ram dimly visible through the jagged hole. Bodies—mostly human—littered the mound of rubble that had spilled inside, the broken stones dyed red with defenders’ blood. From there, the orcks had apparently wasted little time, because every single building between the breached wall and where the sixth stood had been ripped at, split apart, knocked down, or set on fire.

  Mazik gaped. But the square was the worst, he quickly realized. As he watched, the last half dozen of the southern wall’s defenders were torn apart. Mazik wished that was a metaphor. The men and women weren’t stabbed, riddled with arrows, or bisected by a particularly vicious strike. The forty-some-odd orcks swarming over them grabbed at them like a classroom of children with plate of cookies, and pulled, ripping them asunder with brute strength. Blood and organs spilled onto the ground, bathing the invaders in sticky crimson.

  Before this, Mazik had seen an orck once. Not a live one—his stint in the Houkian army wasn’t that exciting. At a museum, a stuffed one. He checked off their identifying features: big, muscular, with blue skin, flat noses, and the occasional short tusk protruding from their split lips. Naked save for rags and weapon belts, the creatures ransacking Saffir were certainly orcks. But what the stuffed specimen hadn’t managed to capture, no matter how hard the taxidermists must have tried, was the striking violence of an orck in motion.

  Orcks were not the stupid beasts most humans thought they were. While their test scores would be nothing to brag about, they didn’t slobber or stomp about, nor did they fool easy. They were too focused for that. Orcks didn’t need to be smart because they could smash their way through any obstacle, aside from other orcks—and in large enough numbers, even that wasn’t a problem.

  It was their eyes, Mazik decided, as the orcks finished rending the soldiers apart and turned their attention to the city’s one-hundred-strong main force, which was even now entering the square. The only beings Mazik had come across that came anywhere close to the murderous intent he saw in the orcks’ eyes were the monstrous aku of Amougourest, and the dark god Amougourest itself.

  Orcks were not beasts. Orcks were predators. They were predators who killed and destroyed, not for sustenance, but for pleasure. Orcks were stupid like tigers—they could be fooled, but they were always dangerous and should never be underestimated.

  Mazik’s eyes scanned the smoldering cityscape. As expected, after the rout in the orcks’ camp earlier that day, they had brought more of their own forces to bear. In addition to the forty warriors now orienting on the bulk of Saffir’s defenders, he could see flashes of blue skin amid the burned and broken buildings between the sixth squad and the distant walls.

  Sergeant Redsna had clearly realized the same thing. He didn’t curse, though he looked like he wanted to. But the sixth didn’t move—the sergeant held up a hand, telling them to wait.

  Horns sounded from the city’s main force as they moved to engage the orcks. Shields dug into the pavement as armored knights took up the front ranks, setting themselves up to stop the orck charge before they could get at the more lightly armored allies behind them.

  As if in response, the visible orcks let loose a terrific unified bellow—a bone-rattling roar of aggression that made Mazik’s stomach feel like it was going to drop out of his body. He looked at his friends. Gavi was gripping her sword, her other hand stroking her arrowhead charm while the focus crystal he lent her glowed faintly. Raedren showed no outward signs of tension, though Mazik was sure it was there, all of it trapped behind the calm detachment he assumed in stressful situations.

  Mazik turned back to the square, mana gathering in his hands as his heart hammered with excitement and fear. He pushed away the fear, choosing excitement instead. A wild slasher grin grew on his face. He had learned long ago that he had a choice between enjoying the fight or being crushed by it, and Mazik knew which he preferred.

  A flare went up, then another—both blue. Sergeant Redsna backed into the alley. “We’re on hunting duty. We find the stragglers and burn them down. Move out.”

  *

  It didn’t take long for the sixth squad to come across their first orcks. Two streets away, they found a pair ransacking a jeweler’s storefront. One, a male wearing only a loincloth, was standing in the middle of the one-room shop, a notched prismatic blade17 in its hand as it looked at the shelves in apparent confusion. The other, a female also wearing only a loincloth18 and carrying a stolen steel-headed axe, was out front. She was holding a display case over her head, which she crushed like an accordion; a small fortune in necklaces and bangles rained down over her naked shoulders.

  The sixth was crouched behind the edge of a building on the other side of the intersection. Sergeant Redsna pointed at Mazik and the other two rangers. They scuttled to the front.

  “Hit the one outside. See if you can bring her down before they know we’re here,” whispered Sergeant Redsna.

  The rangers took aim. Sergeant Redsna held up three fingers and counted down. “Three, two, one—fire.”

  The female roared as she was engulfed. The explosions swallowed her, choking off her voice, flash-frying her skin—and then the cloud dissipated. Half of her body was burned, badly, but she was still alive.

  Sergeant Redsna rose, his guard-issued sword in hand. He pointed at two forwards. “You two, all rangers, take out the injured one. Other forwards, you’re with me. Support, keep us all alive. Go!”

  During her tenure in the Houk Army, Gavi learned tactics for fighting more powerful opponents, both one-on-one and in groups. She had paid close attention to those lessons, since being overpowered was her usual state of affairs.

  She recalled one lesson in particular. One of the other trainees had been getting cocky, so the drill sergeant had locked him in a pen with three wolves. Gavi learned a lot from watching those wolves. The trainee survived—he was good at protection magick, and the drill sergeant was careful to save him before the wolves could finish him off—but not before the wolves delivered a humbling lesson.

  Every time the trainee tried to focus on one wolf, one of the others would attack him from another direction. They always sought to cripple him, going for the legs. They darted in and out, never giving him a chance to properly retaliate. They wore him down, never letting him rest, until h
e grew too tired, and … the drill sergeant saved him.

  Gavi darted out of the orck’s reach before it could turn. She was putting that lesson to good use now. Gavi, Sergeant Redsna, and another forward—a woman named Shava, who wore a full suit of plate armor and was wielding a long zweihander—were arranged around a darkened street corner, an angry orck between them. Right now they were doing their best to keep the orck contained, and barely managing it.

  Gavi’s sword collided with the orck’s sweating flank, and sparks flew as her blade bounced. She barely ducked the orck’s return swipe, its dirty nails slicing through the air over her head—and she completely misjudged the second blow. The hilt of the orck’s blade slammed into Gavi’s stomach, hurling her to the ground.

  The problem, Gavi dimly thought as stars exploded behind her eyes and the hard ground forced all of the air out of her lungs, is that this thing is more powerful than any trainee. She would hate to see what happened to wolves in orck territory.

  Gavi forced her reeling body to move. She rolled out of the way as the orck’s weapon came down, the sidewalk splitting where she had fallen. Gavi kept rolling, right off the sidewalk and into the gutter. She splashed down in the foul liquid, some of it shooting up her nose.

  “Come on, you stinking blueberry!” snarled Shava, interposing herself between the orck and Gavi. She stabbed at it with her zweihander, but even the big two-handed sword could barely penetrate the orck’s natural barriers, and the orck ignored what little damage it had done.

  As Sergeant Redsna attacked the orck from behind, Gavi pushed herself onto her hands and knees, water sleeting off her leather armor. The orck’s speed was terrifying. She had heard stories, but those were nothing next to experiencing it herself. She would have said it was unfair that something so much larger and stronger than her could also be so much faster as well, but she was used to such injustices. Aegis made it abundantly clear that it didn’t care a whit for equality or fairness.

  “Here, let me help,” came a gentle voice. Gavi felt her fatigue retreat as mana flowed into her.

  Gavi looked up at the woman whose hand was resting on her shoulder. She had long black hair, and was clad in pastel robes of blue, green, and peach, with no weapons. Her name was Uard, and she was the sixth squad’s other support caster.

  “Thank you.” Gavi stood up. She felt the next best thing to one hundred percent, injuries notwithstanding. Rejuvenation magick was no substitute for rest, recuperation, and a good meal, but sometimes it was hard to tell.

  Gavi swiped dripping hair out of her eyes—that, at least, magick could do nothing about. She thanked Uard again, then took up position on the orck’s blindside.

  “Status report!” Sergeant Redsna shouted over his shoulder.

  “Working on it!” replied Mazik. A spell exploded, and Gavi could hear Mazik yelp as glass shattered.

  Gavi watched as the orck attacked Shava, waiting for an opening. Thinking of the wolves, she didn’t wait long—she darted in as soon as she saw the orck’s back, her sword raking across its hamstrings while she kept running past.

  Gavi’s sword bounced again, and failed to penetrate. That’s what made orcks so difficult to kill, she knew. It wasn’t just that every one of them had an MPB—and without any of the hard work human casters had to go through to get them, which was another horrible injustice—it was that they could harden their barriers at will, temporarily blocking all damage. As long as an orck noticed an attack, it could defend against it, meaning that its barriers had to be completely shattered to do more than token damage.

  And it’s hard to pull one over on an orck, thought Gavi. They may not be smart, but that didn’t make them stupid. Where her fellow trainee years ago had panicked and flailed against the wolves, the orck was patiently defending itself, and launching periodic bouts of frightening aggression against random assailants. The good news was that they were containing it, even if it felt tenuous at times.

  Gavi attacked again and faded away. The orck turned to her—and swung at Shava. The fake blindsided her, and Shava couldn’t get her guard up in time. She bit back a cry as her armor dented at the hip, and her left leg collapsed.

  Gavi cursed. “Hold on!” Cold adrenaline flooded her as she dashed in, but it quickly became apparent that Shava wasn’t the one in danger. Unencumbered by other distractions, the orck turned to Sergeant Redsna and laid into him with a flurry of attacks.

  “Horvér!” shouted Raedren. A green barrier sprang up in front of Sergeant Redsna—which the orck tore through immediately. The sergeant took blows to his left arm and thigh, the orck ripping through his other barriers before Gavi even got in range.

  I won’t make it in time! thought Gavi, panicked. Then, a flash of inspiration—Gavi summoned the mana for the spell she was practicing earlier, as quickly as she could. It moved sluggishly at first, then accelerated, the mana swirling obediently as she gripped her blade and swung it like she was crushing a flowerpot with a baseball bat. “Crescent Slash!”

  The spell fizzled, and the orck’s defenses turned aside her blow, though she was gratified by the arc of mana, longer than any she had managed so far, which crawled up the length of the blade.

  Fortunately, her failure didn’t matter—she had wanted to draw the orck’s attention, and her shout managed that. The orck turned on Gavi, lifting its stone blade high—and Mazik kicked it in the head.

  “Boo yah!” said Mazik as blue light exploded from where he struck. The blue-skinned behemoth roared as fire engulfed its skull, and Mazik tumbled to the ground. He scuttled out of the way of the orck’s frustrated retaliation.

  “Move, move, move!” yelled Mazik as he grabbed Redsna by the arm. Gavi didn’t ask questions—she lurched away from the orck.

  Multicolored strobe lights exploded against the roaring orck. Gavi looked over to see the other one, the female, bleeding on the ground.

  “About time,” said Gavi as Mazik stopped beside her, Sergeant Redsna leaning heavily on his shoulder. The other two forwards ran over to contain the male while Mazik’s fellow rangers kept up the barrage. “Nice kick.”

  “Thank you,” said Mazik. He grinned around a large bruise on his right cheek.

  “I feel you don’t understand what ‘ranged offense’ means,” said Sergeant Redsna.

  “Eh, sounds boring. My way works better. But, if you insist—” Mazik pointed at the orck with his free hand. “Mazik Blast!”

  With the entire squad focusing on one target, it didn’t take long for the orck to fall. After several more volleys, it collapsed with a subdued grunt, its weapon crashing to the ground.

  The members of the sixth stood around, panting. Raedren and the other support caster made their way through the group, Raedren using his divine magick to dull their pain while Uard soothed their physical exhaustion. Only three people had suffered injuries, which was a good result against two orcks—a perk of five-to-one odds. But the sound of fighting reverberated from nearby, reminding them that they needed to get moving.

  Raedren and Uard arrived at Mazik and Gavi last. “You two okay?” asked Raedren.

  Mazik patted his bicep. “Great! Though I wish I hadn’t done that, because my arm hurts.” Mazik deflated, doubling over. “Owwww.”

  Raedren smiled wanly and rested his hand on Mazik’s shoulder, saying, “…dert può iyr jeut dernan—Dull Pain.”

  Uard covered her mouth, stifling a giggle at their antics. She tucked a strand of long black hair behind her pointed ear19. “Would any of you like some rejuvenation?”

  “I’m fine,” said Gavi. Mazik echoed her. Uard waved to Raedren before walking off to join her guildmates.

  Mazik glanced at Raedren. “You two seem to be getting along well,” he said, nodding at Uard.

  Raedren ignored him. Before Mazik could say anything else, Sergeant Redsna hobbled to the front of the group as fast as his injured leg would allow him. “Is everyone ready? Mana report, please.”

  There was a chorus of disorganized response
s. After Redsna dealt with their mana situation—two channeled successfully, and topped off the others—he tapped the side of his head and spoke to someone far away.

  He waved for them to stand up. “Follow me.”

  Several streets later, the sixth turned a corner and found a battle in progress. It was not, as they would have suspected, between another squad and some orcks. Nor were the original defenders from the walls involved. It wasn’t even civilians who were fighting—no, that was probably exactly what was happening. Just not in the way Mazik would have expected.

  It was much, much sillier.

  On the side nearest to them was a single man wearing a form-fitting full-body blue leather costume, complete with matching mask. He was standing in front of a mother and her young son, who were huddled against the wall. In front of the blue-suited man was a blue-skinned orck. The orck was clutching a broken iron sword, and was badly bloodied.

  The blue-suited man pointed at the orck. “Don’t worry, mis. I will not allow you or your son to be harmed as long as I, the Blue Boar, still draw breath.”

  Mazik pushed to the front of the group, staring. “Oh, what the fuck is this right here?”

  *

  The Blue Boar was a short, heavily muscled man with broad shoulders. Any other physical attributes he possessed were a mystery, hidden by his extensive costume, the main component of which was a unitard made of tight-fitting, padded leather, which had been dyed a blue deeper than the orck’s dusky skin. Over the unitard, he wore thick boots and gloves—probably to prevent injury while punching and kicking, said the logical side of Mazik’s brain while the rest of him was busy being annoyed—as well as a padded codpiece, for obvious reasons. His costume was accented with brown streaks, which matched the crest of bristly brown fur that crossed his shoulders and swept down his back, morphing into a short blue cape that ended at the small of his back. His mask covered his entire head, save for a small area around his mouth. It had what looked like a snout and boar-like ears on his nose and the top of his head, respectively. Emblazoned on his chest was a circle of dark brown with the letters BB, the second situated lower than the first, in the center. The entire costume shimmered with the telltale gleam of magick-resistant enchantments.