Dahlia breathed out a sigh of relief. Her arms burned with effort, her fingers numb as can be. She clenched her hands again, taking another deep breath.
“Wind Wall!” Dahlia shouted her spell, her fingers moving to form the rune. Despite being numb, they perfectly formed into the necessary glyph. Dahlia could feel the ley lines in her body responding to her words of power. In only a split second, she felt the telltale process of something being used up in her body. It was followed up with a familiar heat emitting from her body, letting her know that her casting was true.
A glowing symbol had materialized in mere moments, before quickly dissipating into nothingness. For a second, there was silence. Suddenly, a gust of swirling wind had burst through the sparse ice and tall grass, blowing cold air and dirt everywhere. The windwall was a success, its powerful effects tearing up the terrain. Dahlia held her breath as she bolstered the spell even more, her body burning up in response. The gust of wind doubled in size, resembling a small vortex that divided the ground into rough halves.
Dahlia gritted her teeth as pain struck through her head. Her fingers faltered. As a result, the bolstered windwall fell apart, dissolving in only seconds. The shaman fell onto her knees, her lungs begging for cold air. She gasped loudly, taking in as much of the night air as she could. She was getting better; it seemed. It had been two days since the meeting in Yorktown and she could already keep her windwall spell up for longer than a few seconds. This was a sign of progress. Dahlia grinned to herself as she stood. She felt invigorated from the practice session, despite her body feeling as if she was wearing hundred pound weights.
“Will it be enough, you think?” A voice called out from behind. Dahlia sighed and turned to Lowe, who was watching from the treeline.
“It’s not mastery, but I think it can be enough,” Dahlia breathed out. “The ritual’s length relies heavily on endurance and reserves,” she added.
“So, does that mean you’re ready?” The gnome questioned. He was as nervous as anyone when it came to the upcoming confrontation.
“I’m not exactly an expert at it, but I know enough to keep the ritual locked in for a good amount of time,” Dahlia turned to Lowe. “You’re going to need to put those shackles on him as soon as you can.” She gestured to the cuffs Lowe was working on.
Those shackles were a work in progress, crafted by Lowe and imbued with an enchantment Dahlia knew. However, the enchantment was not a powerful one, meaning that Dahlia would need to bolster it whenever she got the chance. It was not a cheap process. The specific enchantment in the shackles needed to be imbued with valdora dust, something that itself was expensive to make. Certain enchantments and rune engravings needed a precious metal to imbue and bolster its power and strength. Gold and silver were common in that department, but some enchantment and runes needed specific metals to work.
Some defensive runes needed gold dust to work, while other offensive enchantments needed silver to properly work. Obviously, that didn’t apply to every spell and buff. Gold and silver dust worked just as well when it came to common runes. It was all about preference. Dahlia looked at the shackles once more, inspecting their base. There was a distinct green glow her runes emitted, a result from the valdora engraving. Different metals also emitted different glows. Gold emitted red, silver emitted blue, and valdoras emitted green.
Dahlia rubbed at the rune, making sure that it was still connected to the ley lines and not failing. As she pressed her thumb against the green glow, her body instantly grew tired. Fatigued plagued her hand, its feeling spreading up her arm. She quickly pulled away, a breath of surprise leaving her lips.
“Huh?” Lowe raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright?”
“I’m just fine,” Dahlia chuckled. “Looks like those runes still work.” She gestured to the shackles, which were Dahlia’s version of a Wizard’s bane. While she herself couldn’t cast anti-magic, a rare form of spell casting, she could replicate it. The runes engraved on the shackles were mana draining. Any and all who made contact with it had their reserves sapped and immobilized. Even Wizards could fall to it.
The only problem was application and duration. The shackles Lowe was crafting were made with a specific alloy that was magic resistant. Any ordinary shackles would have broken from the engraving and enchantment, but these ones could handle it. As for duration, these specific runes were only to last for ten to twelve hours, depending on who they latched on. In short, if they were really going to trap a Wizard, this was the way to do it.
“So, are we ready?” Lowe asked.
“Tomorrow we can discuss our plan,” Dahlia said. “There, we’ll decide if we’re ready enough.” The shaman looked to the sky, which was already tinted orange.
“Go get some sleep,” Lowe muttered. “I can finish these up tonight. You need rest more than any of us,” the gnome added.
“Thank you, Lowe,” Dahlia smiled. She turned toward the direction of her shack, which wasn’t too far away. The two conspirators were at a clearing that acted as a certain mid-point between the town’s border and Dahlia’s home. Lowe would find his way home with little trouble, and Dahlia could reach her shack before she collapsed in exhaustion.
The shaman headed off. On the way, her thoughts leaned towards the upcoming day. Was she ready to face off against a Wizard? Would she be able to enact her plan without it all going to shit? Dahlia brushed those questions away. While she was worried about their plan failing spectacularly, there was no reason to think that the Wizard would go all out with them. Someone like Falrick would most definitely be on his guard, yes, but he would not be so foolish as to start an all out brawl in the middle of the town with people around. That would not be ideal. Dahlia knew that Falick would have to surrender or at least reason with them. From what she recalled with Lowe, the Wizard had used to be a reasonable man who had always weighed his choices. If anyone was going to be levelheaded about it, it would be Falrick.
Dahlia stopped at her shack, her hand stopping short at the door. ‘Will he be reasonable?’ Dahlia wondered. Falrick had been a survivor of the Halvorson raid, which had happened to be one of the bloodiest nights in Valenfrost history. Even Seamus, who hadn’t even been in the thick of the fighting, was mentally traumatized from the event. What would make such a loyal Wizard flee from such a fight?
“Let’s hope he’s still sane,” Dahlia muttered. The shaman entered her shack, where she would go to bed early. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
----------------------------------------
“So he is real,” Haggard muttered. He brought the tankard up to his lips, hoping to get a sip in. Instead, the mug of ale was snatched from him.
Helen scowled at him. “You’re supposed to be sober for this, you dolt.”
“Sorry for trying to calm my nerves,” Haggard shot back.
“Like you have a right to be nervous! You’re practically giddy with delight that you get to confront Falrick!” Helen shouted.
“Quit, the both of you,” Felix groaned. “I haven’t gotten a wink of fucking sleep.”
It was morning in the meeting room. Haggard and Helen had arrived early, only to be met with a snoring Felix. As it turned out, the guard captain had been up all night scouting and following Bartheny, who had turned out to be Falrick. Felix had confirmed Hans’ testimony that night, as he had witnessed the Wizard let down his illusion for a split second. Felix confirmed that the man was a spellcaster, and that he snuck out every night to collect herbs and practice his spells at the gravel beach. Bartheny—or Falrick—had also used security runes for his hovel in New Aldren, further cementing the fact that this was the Wizard.
Haggard couldn’t believe it, and neither could Helen.
“I’m gonna owe that gnome so much money,” Helen grumbled.
Haggard had a different reaction. As Helen had correctly guessed, the drifter was more than excited to face up against the Wizard. He couldn’t wait to confront the fabled spellcaster who had survived the Halvorson raid.
“Where is Dahlia?” Haggard asked.
“Lowe went out to get her,” Felix muttered tiredly. “She’ll be here soon. When she does, we’ll discuss the course of action.” The guard captain seemed more than a little weary, his eyes slowly closing. Haggard decided to let him sleep. It had been a long night for Felix, since the man had to spend countless hours following and trailing the elusive Wizard. It couldn’t have been easy for him.
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“Do you think he’ll fight when we confront him?” Haggard asked Helen. He laid back in his chair, his gaze now up on the ceiling.
“Of course not,” Helen responded from her end of the table. “Falrick is a careful man, judging from how well he’s been hiding himself these past months. I doubt he’ll risk it all because he was found out.”
“Hmm,” Haggard frowned. While he wished for a scuffle, Haggard had to agree with Helen on this. Now that he thought about it, the Wizard would probably turn away from a fight, even if provoked.
“Cheer up, you’ll get your fabled match at some point. With James’ luck, he’ll probably bring back an armada of enemies, ready to raid the town,” Helen sighed.
“That’s not it.” Haggard muttered.
“What? I thought you enjoyed fighting?”
“That’s only a part of it,” the drifter revealed. He scratched at his beard. “Fighting is half the fun. The other half…” Haggard raised his calloused hand. It had the lingering scars and marks of his past fights, all of which had been a learning experience. Even that fight with those orcs was a fun bout. Yet the adrenaline rush wasn’t what Haggard looked for. No, it was something else.
“True strength cannot be gained through mindless fighting. Especially against weaker foes,” Haggard said. “Interesting and strong opponents are what improve your battle prowess. It’s what makes battle exciting.” The drifter thought back to his strongest opponent to date. Blood-Irk was a creature beyond his own strength. The orc had nearly killed Haggard a multitude of times back on Aldren. That had put perspective on Haggard’s own abilities.
“Improving myself, that’s what’s exciting.” He grinned.
Helen only stared at him in disbelief. “So when you spared my life…” The blonde woman blinked in realization. “You just wanted a fucking sparring partner?”
“To be fair, I also kind of felt bad for you back then.”
“You fuckin—”
Their conversation was interrupted when the shack’s door opened. Dahlia stepped into the building, her hands carrying satchels. Lowe was behind her, peeking into the room.
“I see everyone is here already,” the shaman sighed.
“What did you bring?” Haggard questioned. He gestured to the satchels she carried.
“Silver, salt, the things necessary for ritual,” Dahlia answered calmly. It was as if she was describing the ingredients to a cake.
“So, do we have a plan of action?” Helen asked. She looked at Felix, who was peacefully sleeping. The former marauder kicked at the guard captain, finally waking him up.
“Huh?! Wha? What happened?” Felix bumbled. He looked around. “Oh, Dahlia! You just got here?”
“What’s the plan?” Helen repeated once more, this time slowing her words down for Felix to process them.
“It should be simple. We’ve already gone through this for the last couple of days,” Dahlia said. “Then again, I guess you two didn’t really take it seriously,” the shaman sighed. “Alright, here’s the plan.” She sat down at the table, resting her satchels to the side as Lowe hurried to join them all.
“Felix and Helen will be scouts and my eyes. They will let me know what is happening and where Falrick is going.” Dahlia reached into one satchel. She pulled out a few crystals, their hue bordering on a greenish-blue. “These are spell crystals embedded with communication enchantments. Everyone gets one,” she explained.
Felix picked one up. “How do these work?”
“You say the keyword associated with the crystal and it will contact the others,” Dahlia explained. She soon pointed to Haggard. “He will be the bait. Haggard, as much as you want a scuffle, I need you to hold back. You’re going to need to lure Falrick to a cleared part of town. We need to reduce damage as much as we can,”
Haggard grumbled at Dahlia’s request, but didn’t oppose it.
Dahlia continued, ignoring his reaction. “While Falrick gets into position, I’ll start on the ritual. Felix, did you get anything from Falrick? Clothing? Hair?” The shaman asked.
Felix nodded. “I know I know. Here.” He brought out a piece of cloth. “Got it while he was in the marketplace. Miracle, he didn’t see me.”
“Good,” Dahlia sighed in relief. “Then we can continue.” She gestured to Lowe. “He will assist me in capturing the Wizard. Lowe has our backup ready, so even when my ritual fails, the shackles won’t.”
The gnome brought out his shackles to prove Dahlia’s point. “Not even Haggard can break them,” he announced proudly.
“You want to bet?” Haggard responded to the challenge with a grin.
“Please. No more tests.” Dahlia raised a hand to stop the drifter. “You’ve already broken enough prototypes. This one will work, regardless if you can break them or not.”
Haggard sighed. “If you say so.” While he could definitely break those shoddy cuffs, Haggard had no doubt that they could restrain a Wizard. Especially with those runes. While he was not an expert in magic, Haggard recognized mana draining runes whenever he saw them. Just looking at them sparked the memory of dark dungeons and foul smells. It filled his head with unpleasant sounds and voices. How could he ever forget?
He shook off those thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce about the past. They had a Wizard to hunt.
“So, when do we start?”
----------------------------------------
Deimos reinforced his grip onto the tail end of the longship, his body feeling as if hundreds of pins and needles stabbed at it. His stomach churned, but the Red Death kept it in. He was used to the feeling of teleportation. He looked behind the longship, spotting a couple more blacked hulls pass through the gate. They were longships as well, chosen for their sleek profile and speed. Deimos would have taken his dear Bloody Mary to lead his raiding party, but he knew better than to take that warship around these waters.
The ship he was on, Virtus’ Curse, was one of the very few ships blessed with gate runes. Deimos had procured this specific ship from Halvorson’s docks, taking its name and unique enchantment. Gate runes were rare enough, but a ship engraved with them was close to artifact level. That didn’t stop Deimos from using them as if they were limitless. What was the point of runes if you would not use them? Deimos knew that he also wasn’t the only one with gate runes. Redyr had ships engraved with gates, as well as the Lumen Kingdom. Especially the Lumen Kingdom.
Deimos knew this because four of the six ships he carried with gate runes were from both kingdoms. One of them was from Redyr and the other three were from Lumen hands. Technically four from Lumen, but he had since given that one away to a certain blond man. Deimos kept that a secret, since no one but Eli knew of that ship’s importance.
“Sir, we are on a three day sail from the orc camp,” Eli called out from the front end of the ship.
“Good, we can set up a small camp on one of the nearby islands before going any further,” Deimos answered. He noted Eli’s raised staff. Its tip glowed, a sign that Eli was still keeping the gate open. That was a drawback from engraved gate runes. While incredibly useful, they needed a Wizard to activate and hold them. Doing so can greatly exhaust a spellcaster’s reserves and stamina. Even Eli had limits whenever he activated them.
It was why Redyr and Lumen were the one of the few kingdoms with such ships. They had the manpower to hold them and the Wizards to activate them. Whether those Wizards were on the ship didn’t matter. They just needed to be close enough to activate and see the ship out. That way, spellcasters did not need to be in the midst of battle during a raid or an offensive attack.
“Good idea,” Ivana muttered from her side of the ship. She was having a harder time keeping her breakfast in, it seemed. Still, it was a lot more preferable than the marauders who vomited into the awaiting sea.
Deimos sighed. “I don’t want half of my forces dead because a couple of men were sick. We’ll rest for a day at the island before heading off.”
“Thank you… sir!” one marauder managed out before he retched.
‘Weaklings.’
Deimos felt his face contort out of disgust. The only ones he had any respect for were Ivana and Eli, who held themselves up better. Deimos was satisfied with knowing that they had grown much stronger since their humble beginnings. Especially Ivana, who had been nothing more than a small, weak child when Deimos had first found her. She had a strong spirit, even attempting to kill Deimos out of anger for her fallen village all those years ago. Thankfully, the chieftain had not needed to kill her, for she had soon figured that the big man was not responsible for her family’s death.
Deimos recalled the two most important times in Ivana’s life. The first was obviously when she had been saved by his hand. He had given her purpose and meaning. He had trained her himself even and had guided her vengeance. The second time was when she ripped the throat of the Lumen Knight that had burned her face and killed her family. It had invigorated her and gave the young woman a reason to keep fighting under Deimos’ banner.
The Red Death hoped Ivana would continue to grow as a warrior and person. To grow into a worthy successor to his cause. While Deimos was far from weak, he was getting older. Magic and potions can keep a man young for long, but Deimos had no intention of prolonging his age much longer. He wanted to die in battle, preferably against a worthy opponent in a great war. His war with the Lumen Kingdom was going to end at a point, as with all things. Deimos only hoped to make an impact before he bit the dust and took the kingdom with him.
“Eli, how far until we make it to the next island?” Still, he had many things to do before the time came.
“Half a day,” Eli called out.
“Set us with magical wind then and hurry our ships. Camp must be made before nightfall,” Deimos ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
For now, he was the Red Death of the North, bent on burning the Lumen Kingdom to the ground and bringing his vengeance upon the men who had brought war and misery to Valenfrost.