376 days until the Arkon Shield falls

It did not take long for Marcus and Petrov to appear. They rushed into the tent, panting. The pair had obviously raced over. My expression must have scared Peter enough to give the captains a fright too.

“What is it?” Petrov demanded tersely. “Are we being attacked?”

I shook my head. “No, nothing like that.” Petrov’s stance relaxed minutely.

“What’s wrong then?” Marcus asked, unconsciously echoing Peter’s earlier question.

Wordlessly, I held out my hand, revealing the scrap of parchment resting on my palm.

Marcus’ eyes widened. “Paper,” he murmured. It was one of the most lamented items back in Sierra. Our crafters hadn’t been able to create any yet, but not for want of trying.

“Read it,” I said.

Petrov frowned but didn’t say anything as Marcus gingerly took the note. A moment later, the scout captain gasped. Leaning over the smaller man, Petrov peered down at the parchment, and his own eyes rounded in shock.

The pair’s gazes jerked back to me. “It’s in English,” Marcus stated unnecessarily.

I nodded. The note contained only the fragment of a message, and I recited it from memory.

“… orcs are in the vicinity of the target. You may need to...”

That was all that could be discerned; the rest was illegible. The pale parchment was only a scrap of paper and appeared to have been torn up from a bigger piece. Still, the words written on it were indisputably English and if I had to guess, had been written by human hands.

My brows furrowed as I considered the message itself. The words were cryptic and did not lend themselves easily to deciphering. What was the ‘target’ being referred to? The red dungeon or something else?

And what did it mean that the orcs had the note?

“Where did you find this?” Marcus asked.

“Peter found it in there,” I said, gesturing to the chest. “Buried under a pile of clothes.”

Tracking the direction of my arm, Petrov moved to the chest in question and, one by one, began removing each article of clothing and patting it down. It was a more rigorous search than Peter’s own.

Marcus eyed his fellow captain for a moment before resting his gaze on me. “What do you think this means?”

I could see from the twisted expression on Marcus’ face, he already had his own suspicions. “You mean, do I think humans are working with the orcs?”

Marcus grimaced but nodded, seemingly already fixed on the worst possible implications.

“I’m not sure,” I said, taking the scrap of parchment from him. “There is no way to tell from this alone. But it is not the note’s reference to ‘orcs’ that I find most interesting.”

Marcus frowned. “It isn’t?”

I shook my head. “What is more intriguing is the paper itself. Think about it, Marcus. There is a band of humans in the region running around with paper. That is surely proof that whoever they are, they have greater access to resources than we do. Maybe they got it from the orcs, or maybe they didn’t.” I held his gaze. “Either way, we have to find them.”

The blonde captain nodded slowly. “I will send out the scouts and have them scour the area for signs of other humans.”

Petrov rose to his feet. “Before you do, have a look at this.”

Turning around, I saw the bearded man was clutching three rolled-up scrolls in his fist.

✽✽✽

I watched avidly as Petrov laid his finds on the table. If they were also messages penned by human hands, it made Peter’s initial discovery paltry by comparison.

“Ah, more correspondences,” Marcus said, thinking along the same lines. “Maybe we’ll learn more about these humans now.”

Petrov shook his head. “They’re not what you think. Analyze them,” he suggested.

Frowning, I did as he bade.

The target is a single-cast scroll containing the Technique, refuge.

Additional information revealed by lore: Refuge is a Technique that allows a player to camouflage his party’s camp, hiding it from hostile eyes. A scouting skill of level 20 is required to use this scroll successfully. This item is destroyed after use.

“Wow,” I breathed. “Lore scrolls.”

Petrov glanced at me. “Care to explain what that means?” he asked, a hint of dryness to his tone.

The parts of the wiki I’d read had spoken of lorebooks—magical tomes that allowed a player to learn a new Technique—but not of lore scrolls. However, the Trials’ information made their purpose clear. “They allow players to use an ability that they are not yet skilled enough to learn,” I replied. “The knowledge is embedded in the scroll itself by the scribe who created it.”

Stepping closer to the table, I inspected the scrolls more carefully. They were made from pale yellow parchment and held shut by green wax. I was tempted to break one of the seals but resisted the urge, uncertain if that would activate it.

Marcus was biting his lip. “What sort of ability is refuge?”

All three scrolls on the table were of the same type, but neither captain had the lore skill necessary to decipher their purpose, and it fell to me to explain.

“Why would the orcs need such scrolls?” Petrov asked when I was done.

I shook my head. “They wouldn’t. And these scrolls are definitely not of orcish origin.” The scrolls hadn’t triggered my revulsion, so I could say that with certainty.

Petrov looked at me blankly. “Then where did they come from?”

I held up the scrap of parchment still in my hands. “Possibly from the same humans who penned this.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The three of us fell silent while the implications of that sank in. Whoever the mysterious humans were, they appeared well-equipped, which made it all the more imperative that we found them.

“Should I recall the commander?” Marcus asked at last.

Petrov shook his head. “No. It is more important for her to be in Sierra.”

I nodded in agreement. “Besides, until we have more information, there is not much else Jolin can do here.”

“Then I better go give the scouts their orders,” Marcus said. Not waiting for a response, he ducked out of the tent.

✽✽✽

Following more slowly in the scout captain’s wake, I left the scrolls in Petrov’s care while I went to check the other tent. It showed recent signs of occupation but was disappointingly empty, containing only a naked mattress and a bare chest that had been left open.

Slipping back out of the tent, I found Peter waiting for me. “Mage Jamie, we’ve finished sorting the orcs’ equipment as you requested,” he said.

I looked at him. I’d almost forgotten about Zumen’s items. The two spearmen had spread them out on the ground just as I’d instructed. With my hands folded behind my back, I inspected each object in turn.

The target is a plain bastard sword made from zelium and is particularly effective at cutting through all armor types. This item is of orcish manufacture and may not be used by you.

The target is a set of zelium full plate armor: a breastplate, legs, arms, helm, and boots. This armor is especially resistant to all forms of damage. This item is of orcish manufacture and may not be used by you.

The target is an enchanted gauntlet made from zelium and inset with an elemental crystal of fire. It can only be used by Zumen Foghorn. The special properties of this item are: unknown. Your lore skill is insufficient.

I ground my teeth in frustration. The armored glove, of course, had been of the greatest interest to me. I’d been hoping it could be refitted for human hands and its enchantments preserved, but that didn’t appear to be the case.

In its current state, the gauntlet was useless to Sierra. Oh well, at least the zelium will not go to waste. The armor pieces could be melted down and reforged.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Petrov exit Zumen’s tent. I waved him over and handed him a dagger. “Petrov, can I trouble you for something?”

The bearded captain looked down at the knife, his brows crinkling in confusion. “Yes?”

“Mind removing the ruby gem from that?” I asked, pointing to the gauntlet with my staff. The elemental crystal was on prominent display, inset into the wrist-guard.

With the gauntlet unusable, I saw no reason not to experiment on it. Revulsion wouldn’t let me handle the armored glove itself, but perhaps the restriction wouldn’t apply to the crystal embedded within it. After all, it was not of orcish manufacture. I wondered though, if the Trials would see it the same way.

Petrov didn’t question my request. Picking up the gauntlet, he pried at it with the dagger.

“Careful,” I added belatedly. “You don’t want—”

The ruby-like crystal in the glove popped free and landed on the ground with a plop.

“—to damage it,” I finished faintly.

“You should have led with that,” Petrov said, deadpan.

Was he laughing at me? Deciding to ignore his response, I bent down and picked up the crystal. Revulsion didn’t trigger, and I expelled a careful breath.

“You still need me?” he asked.

“No, and thanks,” I replied absently, my attention fixed on the object in my hands. Reaching out with my will, I cast analyze on the crystal.

The target is an elemental stone of fire. Current state: dormant. The special properties of this item are: unknown. Your lore skill is insufficient.

A stone, I marveled. Not a fragment. The crystal was the size of a golf ball, larger by far than the ones I had retrieved from the Primal Keep. After my previous experience at enchanting, I knew this meant it could hold more complex enchantments. Like a fireball spell.

“Well, well,” I murmured. “This will come in very handy.” But it would likely be a long while before I possessed the skill necessary to etch an enchantment into the stone.

Still, no harm in attempting a few careful experiments.

Glancing up, I saw I was alone. Petrov had left, taking the two spearmen with him. Pocketing the crystal into one of my side pockets, I went in search of a quiet spot.

✽✽✽

The immediate area around the dungeon obelisk was the quietest in the glade. Sitting down with my back against the obsidian structure, I examined the elemental stone again, peering at it from all directions.

The blood-red stone gleamed with an inner fire of its own, but other than that, it differed little from an ordinary ruby gem. Opening my magesight, I studied the stone anew. Seen through the lens of magic, the crystal’s magical nature was unmistakable. Dense lines of spirit filled the entirety of the stone, shining with a luminance that was nearly blinding.

Buried in the heart of the crystal’s spirit weave, I picked out the base structure of a fire magic spell. But unlike the smaller fragments I’d examined before, the kernel in this stone was fuller. The elemental spirit in this crystal is more mature and complex, I concluded.

Just how complex? I wondered idly. Letting my senses brush over the crystal, I inspected it in more detail. Threads of spirit radiated outwards from the kernel in replica of what I assumed was the spellform of the fireball spell.

If only I could learn the spell from the—

My thoughts broke off as I noticed an oddity. Many of the spirit filaments along the edges of the crystal dangled free as if they’d been shorn off.

A second later, I realized why. Of course. The spiritform in the crystal was incomplete, likely broken when Petrov had ripped the elemental stone free from the gauntlet.

But if that was the case, why hadn’t the spirit within reverted to its original shape? At the moment, it looked… damaged. Interest piqued, I delved further into the crystal.

The spirit weave recoiled.

My eyes widened. How did it do that? I wondered. It was almost as if the elemental spirit within the stone had been aware of me…

Uncertain if the reaction had been an anomaly, I slipped a strand of mana into the crystal and watched in fascination as the stone’s spirit weave retreated from its touch.

None of the other spirits I’d interacted with—fragments or saplings—had shown this much animation, and I was unsure what to make of the stone’s unexpected behavior.

My curiosity mounting, I sent more mana to probe the crystal’s depths. This time unable to avoid the multiple strands besetting it, the elemental spirit inside froze in place.

Tentatively, I let a single strand of mana touch its weave.

Emotion flooded me.

Rage.

Fear.

Pain.

Hastily, I withdrew my probe. The crystal throbbed with life, an angry life of a sort I was very familiar with. It seemed alive in a way that my own dragonfire did at times.

And it was hurt.

For whatever reason, the elemental spirit within the stone did not appear able to repair the damage done to its spirit weave.

Perhaps it needs a helping hand.

Reaching into the crystal again, I gently slipped mana towards one of the dangling spirit strands. At first, the elemental spirit tried to evade my magic, but I persisted and eventually latched onto my target.

The spirit stilled under my grasp.

Treating it as I would a frightened animal, I coaxed mana into the injured spirit. The elemental drank in the energy, hesitant at first, then eagerly, and soon the dull and frayed spirit strands shone with life. They still didn’t rejoin the rest of the spirit weave, though.

Hmm, I wonder…

Curling my mana around one of the damaged threads, I tugged on it.

It slid effortlessly into motion.

I did not know how to properly reknit the spirit, of course, but that didn’t seem necessary. The moment I yanked the thread free, it continued moving and, on its own, rejoined the greater weave of itself.

Excellent, I thought, moving on to the next strand. There were hundreds, if not thousands of dangling threads, and to free them all was going to take time.