375 days until the Arkon Shield falls

Your majesty,

I’ve put plans in motion to discover Orgtul’s target. Our spies have been alerted and bounties placed—discreetly, of course. Our human partners also seem keen to discover the whereabouts of this Jamie Sinclair, and I do not doubt that one of our efforts will soon bear fruit.

—Paladin Jan Lin.

The plan was risky, but Thornton didn’t object to it, by which I took to mean it had merit. And after our hurried conference, it took only a few minutes to put it into play.

Weaving erratically, I approached the campfire from the north. Thornton and Cass had told me that only one orc was awake, a medium infantry fighter. The other three slumbered on the southern end of the camp, about two yards from the guard on watch. Two yards was not much, but it was enough for what I intended.

Swiping away the dripping blood from the gash across my forehead, I approached the orc as silently as I could. It wouldn’t do to alert his sleeping fellows, after all.

I made for a wretched sight. My armor was ripped—artfully so—I was covered in cuts and bruises, and I limped alone and weaponless through the forest.

I was about ten yards away when the orc spotted me. About time, I groused. With a startled snort, the guard jerked his head up and blinked once, then twice more, as he took in my bedraggled appearance.

Had he been sleeping?

After a moment, when I made no threatening gestures, the orc dragged his eyes away from me to scan the surroundings. But to all appearances, I was alone. Before the orc could decide what action to take, I stumbled forward another step, deliberately exaggerating my limp.

The orc’s eyes widened encouragingly as his gaze fixed on my hobbled left foot. A moment later, I felt a somewhat familiar ripple pass over me. Good, he was analyzing me.

Then, in what I hoped was a convincing display, I slumped to the floor, mouth working soundlessly and hands twitching.

The orc rose to his feet, his eyes fixed on my downed form. For a drawn-out moment, he stared at me, not moving and, more importantly, not raising the alarm. The seconds ticked by while I watched through half-lidded eyes for the guard to decide what to do.

After what felt like an eternity, the orc peered over his shoulder at his sleeping companions, then set a hand to his weapon and stepped silently forward. I exhaled a careful breath and hid a smile. Excellent.

My scheme hinged on the guard knowing who I was. By now, I expected that every orc in the Dominion had my description and orders to capture me.

I was gambling that this particular orc would want to claim me all for himself rather than share the spoils with his fellows. And I had taken pains to give him no cause for fear. Both my appearance and the Trials’ response to his analyze would’ve assured him I was harmless. If the disdain on the guard’s face when he beheld my level—less than half his own—was anything to go by, my plan was working.

The orc did not hurry as he approached me, which was all to the good. It gave me time. As my foe drew closer, pausing between steps to scan the surroundings, I called upon my magic and began casting from my right hand. I had made certain to keep it outstretched and pointed the guard’s way when I fell.

I completed my spell before the orc reached me and waited, chest heaving and breathing exaggerated. Ignorant of the casting, the guard stepped into the spelled ground without concern.

Wilting waze triggered. One hostile affected.

In a heartbeat, the spell stripped away my target’s agility. The orc swayed listlessly but stayed upright. Eyes rounding in shock, he opened his mouth to scream in alarm, but before he could get the words out, Cass dropped from the tree above and onto the orc’s shoulders.

Slowed by the wilting waze, the guard could not shake off the smaller player nor fend off the arm she wrapped around his mouth to muffle his cry.

I was still lumbering ungainly to my feet when Thornton landed in a crouch before the orc. Bouncing to his feet, the sergeant darted forward. In what seemed an eerily coordinated maneuver, Cass wrenched back the guard’s head and lifted his chainmail coif, baring his throat in time for Thornton to slash it open.

An unknown orc, a level 118 Seasoned player, has died.

I blinked, astonished by the suddenness of the orc’s death.

“Help me,” Thornton hissed.

The guard, his strings cut, had begun to topple over. The sergeant had his arms wrapped around the orc’s torso, attempting to slow his fall. Stepping forward, I lent my weight to his efforts.

We succeeded—mostly—and the orc hit the ground with a dull thud, Cass still atop him. Before Thornton or I could react, the redhead attacked the corpse in a frenzy, stabbing her long daggers through every opening she could find.

I watched speechless, stunned by the ferocity of her assault. Thornton staggered back, watching in horror as his fellow scout hacked at the body. Overcoming my own surprise, I stepped forward and laid a hand on the redhead’s shoulder. “Cass,” I whispered, “it’s over.”

She flung up her head and pinned me with a glare. Cass’ mouth was contorted in fury, and her face was bathed in blood. There was no recognition in her wide staring eyes either, and it was only by concerted effort that I didn’t step back.

I squeezed her shoulder. “It’s over,” I repeated.

Recognition and something else—disappointment? grief?—seeped back into her eyes, and she stepped off the orc, making no attempt to rid herself of the gore covering her. Spinning on her heels, Cass eyed the orc camp and the other three still-slumbering forms.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Let’s go get them,” she hissed. Without waiting for a response, Cass advanced, her movements slow and sure, exhibiting all the tautness and care of a lioness stalking her prey.

Thornton looked at me helplessly. “She’ll be okay,” I said reassuringly. I hoped it was true, but I wasn’t convinced. I waved the scout sergeant on. “Go help her and stick to the plan.” I hesitated, then added, “And try to keep her alive.”

✽✽✽

I was afraid my own poor stealth would botch the assassinations and didn’t follow after the scouts. Not to mention burning brightly wouldn’t help matters either. Feeling helpless, I watched the two creep towards the camp. At the rate they were advancing, it would take them a while to reach their targets, and my thoughts circled back to the redhead.

The upswell of darkness in the scout was palpable, and it was undoubtedly fuelling her actions and unpredictable behavior.

You, better than anyone, know how this goes, Jamie.

I squeezed my eyes shut. It was true. Cass’ need to articulate her rage, to bury her grief in her enemies, and to soak her hate in blood—these were all feelings I was intimately familiar with. Images flashed through my mind.

Mom’s beheading.

Clawing at Yarl.

My ploy with the grenades.

Grief rose up in me, and I rocked back on my heels, feeling the renewed tug of despair as memories I thought firmly repressed resurged.

Gulping in air, I fought to regain my equilibrium. Not now, damnit! In the midst of my churning emotions, one thought rose to the surface: Did Cass’ reaction to Laura’s death mirror my own to Mom’s passing?

The question was like a splash of ice, and it shocked me out of my downwards spiral. Is my response to my own grief as… untempered as hers? Am I as out of control?

Even the idea was painful and struck to the core of who I’d become, of what I was fashioning myself into. Could it be true?

No. Of course not.

My actions on the day of Ma’s death had been measured. Reasoned. But the thought rang with less conviction than it once had. My brows drew down in consternation.

Enough of this, Jamie. This isn’t the time or place.

I ignored the dissenting voice. The topic had been broached, and I couldn’t shirk from it. And the truth was, it wasn’t only Cass that was causing me to reassess. Recently, it felt as if matters had been driving me to this moment: to question my course. Shuddering with unease, I let repressed memories resurface.

Images flashed before me.

Mom’s execution. My assault on Yarl. My gambit with the grenades. I witnessed it all again. But this time, I saw my actions for what they truly were: rage-fuelled, desperate, suicidal.

The memories did not stop there. Many more jockeyed for attention—highlighting every moment since when I’d given way to the despair and hate within me, when I’d endangered not only myself but those around me. I bowed my head.

I did not like who I’d become, what I was becoming still. I shuddered. I had been so sure my actions were necessary and my goals unquestionable. I had slaughtered Ma’s murderers, after all. They had deserved it, and while I didn’t doubt that, I was forced to reconsider the wisdom of my methods.

Was the path I was upon the right one?

The crusade I’d pledged myself to was all-consuming and demanded… everything. The orcs needed to be opposed. I was certain of that, but… am I going about it the right way?

I shook my head, locking away my doubts. I didn’t know the answer to that question, and I would have to ponder it again, but now was not the time.

We had more orcs to kill, and I needed to be on guard in case things went wrong. My gaze flickered back to Cass and Thornton. The pair had almost reached the three sleeping forms.

The next stage of our assault was about to begin.

✽✽✽

From ten yards away, as close as I dared go to the sleeping orcs, I watched Thornton and Cass close on their chosen marks.

My gaze darted to the right of the camp, taking in the wagon and the cage loaded onto it. Inside, I could make out four still mounds. Neither the prisoners nor the other orcs had stirred during the skirmish with the guard. On the left side of the camp, two reptilian creatures were tethered by ropes to a nearby tree. They, too, slept undisturbed.

The beasts were about the size of horses but were built low to the ground like oversized monitor lizards. They had four limbs and a wicked-looking tail. Their bodies were covered in hard, rugged scales, and harnesses had been draped over them. Curiously, I analyzed one.

The target is a level 21 domesticated great lizard.

The lizards were no threat, and I dismissed them from my thoughts. Drumming my fingers along the length of my staff, I returned my attention to the orcs. Everything was going according to plan, but matters could still go horribly wrong. And the worst part: if things fell apart it would not be me who would bear the brunt of the consequences.

How does the old lady do it? I wondered. Sending others into danger was nerve-racking and gave me a new appreciation for the burdens she carried.

The two scouts reached the slumbering orcs and hovered over their marks. Drawing their blades, they glanced up. Our foes were sleeping armored but had removed their helms, leaving their necks exposed.

Readying my staff, I summoned dragonfire and nodded to the pair, giving them the go-ahead. Both dropped to their knees, and as one, their daggers drove down, plunging through the orcs’ throats.

Cass’ target didn’t so much as twitch as her blade drove into his flesh. Thornton was not so lucky. I couldn’t tell from this distance whether he had mistimed his strike or simply been unfortunate, but the orc beneath his hand stiffened and jerked before somehow ripping free of the scout’s blade.

“We’re under—” the orc half-shouted.

He got no further, though, as Thornton tackled him. Straddling his foe, the sergeant hacked downwards while the orc did his best to fend him off.

The third orc rolled to his feet, searching for his weapons, but before he could rally to his companion’s aid, I sent a line of dragonfire scorching through the darkness and struck him on the back of his exposed head.

Skin charred, hair caught alight, and the orc wailed in sudden anguish. Limping forward, I hurled another fire ray his way.

“Leave him!” I shouted to Cass, who was moving to attack my target. “Help Thornton.”

The redhead hesitated for only a fraction of a second before adding her strikes to her partner’s. I kept up my own assault. Striding forward at the quickest pace I could manage, I struck my target with a near-constant stream of fire rays. The orc stumbled about the camp, covering his head with his arms as he tried to shield himself.

His efforts were in vain.

Without letting up, I burned his eyes, his mouth, and his ears, leaving them all blackened and charred. Unable to see, hear, or even give voice to his agony, the orc dropped to his knees.

From the right side of the camp, I heard the four prisoners cry out, but I paid them no heed, my attention fixed on my target. Closing the distance, I flung aside my staff and raised both hands, flaring. Dragonfire—unconstrained and eager—leaped at the orc. In seconds, his entire form was wreathed in fire, and he slumped to the ground, a living torch.

Leaving my foe dying, I turned to Cass and Thornton, but they didn’t need my help. Their own foe was dead too.

The camp was ours.