Hellion Mage

by James Green

  Contents

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Hellion Mage

  Monsters of Valryn 1

  James Green

  Copyright © 2019 by James Green

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  v001

  Chapter 1

  The night was full of sounds. I could hear a rustling in the surrounding bushes and the far-off cry of night birds. None of that concerned me, all that I was concerned with was where my spear-brother Shamus had got to.

  He wasn’t a true brother but one I’d inherited when I joined the Queen’s Army. Nor was he a good soldier, but he was still my brother. So, when the Sergeant had asked for volunteers to go find him and bring him back after he’d wandered out of camp earlier that night, I’d been the only one to step forward.

  The other men in my squad had laughed. Shamus wasn't popular. He was a screwup and often got us unit punishment. He'd make a mistake in the drill, and the sergeant would punish the entire Fist.

  So now I was creeping through the darkened forest by myself, my shield on my back and my spear in both hands. The veterans in the unit had told me that the forest around here wasn’t particularly dangerous—any hellions would have been hunted to extinction years ago—but that there might be bandits. Maybe a wild pig, which would probably be more dangerous. If I ran into some stupid peasant with a club and they tried to rob me, it would go poorly for them.

  I'd been training since I was a kid to be a soldier. Now, at twenty-three, I was a force to be reckoned with. Even though I didn't get a chance to show it in the phalanx, there was no one in the company that could beat me in a sparring match.

  I moved through another tangle of brush, trying to keep my spear from getting hung up. Not being much of a tracker, I didn't know exactly how I was going to find Shamus, but I hoped that he would make himself obvious. He wasn't very bright, so if he'd been trying to desert, he wouldn't have gotten far.

  I scratched at the brand on my chest underneath my armor, the edge of it peeking out of my left arm hole. Sometimes it itched, and I didn't know why, although I'd grown to associate that with being in a dangerous situation.

  I asked the old man in the squad once about this, and he told me that a brand like I had didn't give me any special powers to detect danger. He wasn't wrong I think, but I still had that association in my mind. It always itched right before battle, and occasionally even before ambushes. The other men in my Fist would look at me to see if I was scratching it. It'd become kind of a tradition, and the other Fist leaders would laugh, but become more alert when they noticed that I was scratching.

  I didn't completely believe it, but I’d give it some credence. When I started itching again in that forest, I hunkered down and gripped my spear tight.

  Brands were rare among the common soldiers of the Queen’s Army, usually being given to the children of the nobility. For me to have it made me something special in the Queen’s Army Seventh Gar Division, and that wasn’t always a good thing.

  The woods around me went quiet. The night birds, the rustling and every sound but those generated by the wind quiet for a moment.

  The whole world seemed to hold its breath for a heartbeat, and then I heard the sound of a battle cry echoing through the forest.

  I raced through the bush and sharp brambles scratched my unarmored calves. Traipsing through thick woods wasn't something that the Queen outfitted her soldiers to do. We were armed and armored for phalanx combat, and only that. If an item did not serve that aim, we weren’t issued it.

  I could see a clearing ahead, lit by the moon and a smoky campfire. As I drew closer, the sounds of battle ended, replaced by laughter and yelling.

  Shamus was there, and he was dead. As I watched, one of the soldiers looped a rope around his neck and hoisted him off the ground, dangling under a tree. His spear was broken at his feet, and his shield hung limply on his arm. He had fought, but the seven bandits had easily overwhelmed him. Shamus was far from a good fighter outside of the phalanx.

  I growled deep in my throat, a sound of rage. How dare these vermin kill my spear-brother? I was pulling the shield off my back and strapping it onto my arm when I heard a noise behind me, a crackling in the brush.

  I spun, the shield protecting my body and my spear in the endlessly-practiced overhand stabbing position.

  What stepped out of the bush behind me was not what I expected. I expected to have to kill some bandit returning to camp, or one of their sentries finding me. What I saw instead was a Valryn Knight. The crest on his shield wasn't one I recognized, although I honestly didn't know all of them. There were dozens of orders, and only the most famous were widely known.

  The other odd thing was his race. A long brown beard hung over the chest of his ancient looking plate mail, and the face under the helmet had the broad, almost hammered-looking features of the dwarves. I’d never heard of a dwarven Valryn Knight. Valryn was a human kingdom.

  "Keep it down, boy," he said to me in a low voice.

  "Who are you? " I asked, not lowering my spear.

  "My name is Ulmar. I've been tracking these bandits, as it appears you have been," he replied.

  “I’m William,” I said and lowered my spear.

  He approached and crouched beside me. Together, we observed the camp where the bandits were now breaking out the alcohol to celebrate their successful killing of a single Queen’s spearman. My blood boiled, and I gripped my spear tightly.

  "Taking revenge for your fellow is a noble pursuit, but let's do it smart,” Ulmar said from beside me, not averting his gaze from the campsite. “Stay close to me. After they've drank a bit more and relaxed we’ll charge in. We’ll cover each other's backs. There's only seven of them and they’ll be a bit drunk. We can handle them.”

  "That's your clever plan? How about this instead? You go over to that side of the clearing," I said, pointing off to my left. "When you’re in position, I'll come out of the clearing here and get their attention. They'll think I'm just another lost spearman and focus their attention on me. Once they've done that, you hit them in the flank, and we slaughter them."

  Ulmar raised a bushy eyebrow at me. "A sound tactic, William. I admire your courage. Let's do it." With surprising stealth for a dwarf in full plate, he crept through the bushes around the edge of the camp.

  The idiotic bandits had not even set a sentry and were simply gathered around the fire drinking while occasionally kicking Shamus’s strung-up corpse.

  Ulmar disappeared from sight quickly, so I gave him a few minutes to get into position. Once I was sure that he'd had enough time, I stood up and without any attempt at stealth strode into the camp, stopping at the edge of the clearing.

  "You there! What have you done with my brother?" I asked, pointing at the bandits with my spear.

  The seven men looked up in surprise and drew blades as they turned to face me.

  "Another one? Come on, boys, killing these is good practice," a bandit said, a greasy looking man with shoulder length black hair and scars on the left side of his face. He held a scimitar like he knew how to use it, and smiled, exposing black teeth as he walked toward me.

  I covered the left side of my body with my massive round shield
while I held my spear lightly in my right hand, ready to parry, thrust, and even slash with the sharp point. Fighting as an individual against irregulars like these without the benefit of your brothers around you was much different from fighting in a phalanx.

  "Get him, boys," the one bandit ordered, and the half-drunk men charged, waving their blades.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ulmar charge out of the bushes to my left, and then I was too busy fighting to pay attention to what he was doing.

  These bandits had fought before, and as a unit. It wasn't like I had pictured—some untrained peasant with a club. One ran left while the other moved right, and both stayed out of the range of my thrusts. They knew I couldn't cover both sides at once, and if they got behind my shield, I'd be in trouble.

  I feinted right and charged left, bashing the round metal face of my shield into the startled bandit there. He swung his sword, but it simply skipped off with a scraping sound and he stumbled backward. I spun and thrusted low with the point of my blade, digging it deep into his soft belly. I felt the resistance I'd felt so many times in formation, and with a twist the barbed head disemboweled the man, blood and entrails spraying the ground nearby. He screamed in pain, and I felt rather than saw his friend howl in rage as he charged at my exposed back.

  I thrust backward with the spear, the sharp counterweight there able to double as an improvised spear point. He parried it and tried to step into my guard, but I was already spinning again. Keeping the rim of my shield parallel to the ground, he was surprised when it cracked him in the side of the head. The impact made a sickening crunch as one of the bones in his face broke. He staggered back, and I drove the point of my spear through his sternum. I heard screaming behind me as Ulmar cut someone down, and two more were on me, the slower ones finally catching up to their now dead brothers.

  I barely turned in time to deflect the heavy rusted metal of what had to be someone's grandfather’s war sword. Two bandits were in front of me now, not trying to be smart like their dead friends, simply hacking away. Ulmar was fighting the other two, the leader with the scimitar and a mousy youngster with a mace.

  I blocked and thrust, the two men in front of me but had to keep backing away and attacking to keep them from flanking me, but it was getting difficult. I needed to end this now.

  The man on my left side with the war sword was hacking at me two handed, trying to break the shield. There was little to no chance of that, but it was making a hell of a noise. The one on my right had a short sword, a wicked thing meant for thrusting only, I was managing to keep him away with the point of my spear, but I could see that he was simply biding his time until he could get within my reach and bury it in my stomach.

  The next time the war sword slammed on my shield, I shoved back at the bandit, making him stumble and leaving what looked like an opening for the man with the short sword.

  With a grin he darted within my reach, leading with the point of his blade. I shifted my grip, using the haft of my spear to redirect his thrust away. I bashed him in the face with the shaft of the spear. The thick, heavy wood dazed him and then with a move I'd perfected in many sparring matches I used the counter weighted end of the spear between his legs to send him tumbling to the ground. He fell backwards, arms flailing.

  I drove the counter weighted point through his left thigh, and a bright geyser of blood fountained as he screamed a high-pitched scream of pain. I couldn’t take the time to finish him, so simply moved away, making the fight now between me and the man with the war sword.

  The bandit with a short sword lied on the ground, attempting to stem the blood welling from the punctured artery in his left thigh, but I could see that he had no training and he would be gone soon enough.

  The grizzled man with the war sword came at me with renewed fury, but without his friend to keep me busy there was only two exchanges before I got the better of him. One hack, then two, then a lift of his blade with my shield and a thrust straight to the heart. The simple wool clothes he was wearing were no hindrance to the polished steel head of my spear, and his heart was exactly where I knew it to be. He coughed up a mouthful of blood and fell backwards, already dead although he didn't yet know it.

  I looked around, seeing Ulmar still fighting the bandit leader and the one with the mace. The skinny one’s left arm was out of commission, a deep slash staining the sleeve with blood, but he still held the mace in his right hand. He was staying out of the fight while the bandit leader attempted to take out Ulmar.

  I charged at the bandit leader’s back, picturing my spear erupting from his chest. His little friend with the mace would be easy pickings, but it was not to be.

  The one on the ground that had nearly bled out wasn't quite dead. He shouted a warning. "Diego, behind you!"

  Like a cat, Diego the bandit skipped backward. He took in me and the bodies of his men behind me.

  Ulmar moved to finish him, but in what almost seemed like a practiced motion Diego used his left hand to seize the upper arm of his injured man with the mace and threw him at Ulmar before he ran away from both of us, toward the woods.

  I pelted after Diego meaning to finish him, but damn he was quick.

  Ulmar cut down the unfortunate bandit with the mace instantly and then yelled after me before I made it to into the woods. "William, don't chase him. He could be leading you straight into another ambush.”

  I stopped just before I entered the trees. His words made sense. Diego, whoever he was, obviously knew these woods. I sure as hell didn't.

  I returned to Ulmar, looking him over. He seemed uninjured, his blade soaked with the blood of the two bandits he had killed.

  "You carried more than your fair share of this battle, William. Surprising, when four of them went for you, I thought for sure you were a dead man," Ulmar said.

  "Why is that?" I asked.

  "I know the Queen’s Spears. Outside of the phalanx, most of you are worthless. Like this poor man," he said, pointing to Shamus hanging from the tree nearby. "Speaking of which. I need to check out the rest of the camp. What I'm looking for may be here. For all we know, Diego is going to come back with some more of his friends. We need to be quick.”

  I thought that I shouldn’t be getting involved in the business of a knight, but Ulmar had helped me. There would've been no way I could've taken seven bandits by myself. I didn't want to leave Ulmar here by himself, in case Diego came back with a few of his friends.

  "Fine, let's check it out," I said.

  Behind the line of ragged tents the camp was nestled up against the side of a hill, steep stone stretching far above our heads. It wasn't quite a cliff, but it certainly would be impossible for most men to climb. In that curve was a line of four massive cages and at the end a large armored wagon—a box of thick dark wood and steel without any windows.

  The cages were intimidating, thick steel bars obviously meant to imprison huge things.

  "Gods, what are these for?" I asked.

  "Hellion cages,” Ulmar said. “I'd guess you could keep a C rank in them, if you were brave. Anything larger would break out. They look strong enough.”

  A C rank hellion. I’d never seen anything over E rank, and those were fearsome enough.

  "What do you think is in there?" I asked, pointing at the wagon.

  "Let's find out, shall we?" Ulmar said with a grin.

  We walked together down the line of cages toward the wagon. It was then that I noticed something in the last cage, huddled in the corner. It was emaciated, with dark black fur that made it a shadow in the moonlight. I almost missed it.

  A hellion wolf pup.

  "Ulmar, look," I said.

  "Hellion wolf, just a pup. Leave it be.” Ulmar beckoned me to follow him, but the wolf pup had all my attention.

  I’d never had any kind of pet growing up. That was for the rich. Why would you take an animal in if it didn't do anything for you or your family? A dog, or cat? I didn’t live on a farm. Feeding an animal when we could barely feed our
selves? Madness. The only dogs I’d had experience with were the wild ones that ran in packs that the watch would occasionally hunt down. This pup wasn’t like those mangy dogs I’d seen running through the streets.

  Golden eyes opened, blinking and then focused on me as the wolf pup woke and shakily stood. Even as a pup it was bigger than all but the largest dog. When it grew up, it would be a fearsome beast. Having stood, it padded across the cage toward me, looking me in the eyes the entire time. Once it had got as close it could, it sat down, continuing to examine me.

  Ulmar had moved on, checking out the wagon. "There's a solid lock here, it will take some time to get into it. That’s time I'm not sure we have."

  I moved to the cage door and was glad to see that there was no lock on it. The latch lifted and slid out with very little noise, and the door opened.

  "It will be your fault if that thing attacks us, William," Ulmar said, noticing what I was doing.

  The wolf stepped out of the cage, nuzzling my hand with its muzzle. I squatted down, laying the spear beside it as I scratched it behind the ears. It looked me in the eye, and for some reason it seemed that neither of us felt any fear of the other.

  In the distance I heard yelling, many voices talking as they approached us through the wilderness.

  One voice stood out, barking orders. "Spread out! They might still be in the camp. A dwarf in armor, and a Queen’s spear. Secure the camp," Diego yelled, his voice reaching us faintly.

  "Hells, we'll have to go through them to get out.," Ulmar said, drawing his sword.

  There wasn't anywhere obvious for us to go, or even many places to hide. The only thing that came close was the wagon, the massive slab sided, low-slung vehicle being the only real cover within the camp.

  "Let's shelter behind the wagon,” I suggested. “If we see an opening, we can come out. Otherwise, it will at least shield us from any archers.”

  Ulmar nodded, and we moved into the small space between the parked wagon and the cliff edge. Peeking around the side of the wagon, we could see the bandits begin to enter the camp.