Oliver’s legs were moving before he fully processed Hugo’s cry, bright steel leaping into his hands without a thought. Beryl had sprung into motion ahead of him, carrying her thick oaken staff with the energy of someone ready to vent her frustrations on a willing target. Despite her lead, Oliver’s speed let him quickly catch up with the large girl. As the wardens often spent time on jobs like this, playing the role of simple travelers to lure in predators, they trained in the use of innocuous weapons, and Beryl’s staff, a knobbly branch of dark oak somewhere between walking stick and cudgel, was at much a threat in her hands as Oliver’s runeblade was in his.
He heard odd, wet impacts and cries of pain as he approached the front of the caravan, and quickly took in the tableau in front of him. Hugo’s porters, a pair of burly men clumsily wielding crude hammers, were attempting to swat several darting shapes out of the sky, even as the diminutive attackers rained down small projectiles Oliver couldn’t quite make out. Rather than assist them, Rose was cautiously facing the wooded hills to the left of the highroad, her staff lifted in a ready position.
“Beryl!” Rose’s voice was like a clarion, clear even over the tumult of the fight. While Oliver surveyed the scene, the other warden was already leaping into battle, having evidently caught sight of whatever her friend was facing off against.
A sharp twang turned Oliver’s head, and he saw Hugo standing in the driver’s seat of the frontmost wagon, a sturdy and well-maintained crossbow in hand. The merchant had successfully managed to shoot one of the flying monsters out of the air, and it proved to be a bright blue bird, like a sparrow, larger than both of Oli’s fists put together.
A squall sparrow, some absent part of his brain noted. He had expected, and hoped, that this attack would prove to be whatever force was behind the specter, but he was disappointed to realize that the attackers were just storm monsters, animals who had been caught up in and transformed by the tumultuous magic of the storm that had hit the week before. The sparrows were infused with water and air aspected magic, giving them the raindrop projectile attacks they were using on Hugo’s men.
Oliver had only just put that together when a resounding crack echoed along the caravan, the sound loud enough to stagger Oliver and the others, and to momentarily scatter the small swarm of magical sparrows.
Rose and Beryl were facing off against another storm monster, a stag with a coat of bright yellow fur and sparks dancing along its rack of jagged antlers. Another monster he recognized from his recent studies, the stormstrike stag lowered its head and let loose another booming bolt of lightning, this time succeeding in destroying the earthen barrier Beryl had barely raised in time to stop its first attack.
Rose quickly chanted her fastest healing spell, closing the numerous cuts Beryl had taken from her own shattered defense. Once she was healed, Beryl charged forward, bellowing in rage as she closed on the monster.
It wasn’t a good match up, Oliver quickly realized. The stag was a ranged threat, and it was nimble enough to dodge away as Beryl approached it, while Rose’s desperate healing couldn’t possibly keep up with the damage the monster could deal. Her combat heal was her fastest spell, but it was neither as effective nor as efficient as the slower long-term healing she had used on him during the specter fight.
One thing at a time, Oliver scolded himself. They can handle themselves for a few moments. He had already wasted too much time analyzing the situation- the squall sparrows were flocking together again, condensing the water that would allow a fresh barrage of projectiles. Oliver sprang forward before they could, throwing out his free-hand and releasing a sudden whirlwind at the minor monsters.
Gust Blast–Active, Attack–Manifest a gust of wind straight in front of you. Inflicts little direct damage, but can disorient or physically move enemies. Moderate quintessence cost.
“Get back!” he growled at the laborers. Their clumsy swipes would only get in his way and distract him against agile, airborne enemies like these. He quickly snapped at Hugo, “Take a shot if you have one, but stay behind me, and don’t waste your ammo during any of my gusts.”
“Aye lad,” Hugo replied. The stout, obsequious little man had impressed Oliver little in their time together, but he held his position firmly enough, and kept his cross braced against his shoulder, ready to fire.
The sparrows had enough air magic of their own to not be thrown around too wildly by the column of spinning wind, but it had done its job in dispersing the fog of water magic that would allow them to manifest their attacks. Even as they began to gather more power together, Oliver made a pair of short, quick swipes with his sword, activating his augment as he did.
Wind Slash–Wind, Vanguard–Active, Attack–Use a bladed weapon to make a ranged attack delivered through hardened air. Damage and quintessence cost depend on the weapon used to make the attack.
The cuts sliced straight through one of the birds, and clipped the wing off another, sending it spiraling to the ground. Hugo caught another with his crossbow, but that still left five more of the little monsters, and Oliver braced himself, lifting an arm to cover his face as the hardened water bullets began to rain down on him. One projectile snapped against the exposed skin of his free hand with a feeling like a hammer slammed into his palm, but the rest hit his arming jacket with little more than dull thuds and a brief, light-headed feeling of dipping focus, as his vanguard gift muffled the impacts.
Reinforced Defense–Triggered–When blocking an attack, your equipment is treated as one tier of potency higher. Each time this is triggered, there is a minor focus cost.
In his first real fight alongside Adeline, she had scolded Oliver about his conservative fighting style. He had tried too hard to avoid damage, afraid to rely on his defensive ability. That scathing critique had been a constant nagging in the back of Oli’s skull as he trained, and only now did he begin to understand what Adeline had really meant.
Oliver was a cautious person by nature. Where Beryl had jumped straight in the fray, throwing her might against the most dangerous foe available, Oliver had taken critical moments to get a full grasp of the fight before him. He had used his wind gift to disrupt his enemies, buying valuable time and weakening the attacks that finally did come at him. But that time had paid off, and now he had learned something critical: how long it took the squall sparrows to charge their rain bullets.
The moment the thudding projectiles ceased, Oliver lowered his hand in a firm gesture, ignoring the pain of his hand and activating Gust Blast again, further delaying the sparrows. He quickly followed that up with another pair of Wind Slashes, taking out two more of the monsters, then invoked another whirlwind with his Gust Blast, buying him the time for another quick Wind Slash. Though it drained his quintessence pool to the very bottom, the sequenced abilities kept the minor monsters from gathering even one more attack before the last of them fell to the ground, still.
“By the Primal…” Hugo swore quietly.
Oliver didn’t acknowledge the stunned merchant. Instead, he immediately whirled on the fight that was still ongoing. It looked like Beryl had managed a couple hits with her Stone Toss, but they were inconsequential compared to the pair of gouging wounds the brawny girl had sustained. Only a constant outpouring of healing kept the young warden standing, and that same effort was keeping Rose from contributing her own attacks.
Oliver ran up to the petite warden, watching the stag dart and jump around Beryl’s heavy strikes, which never came close to its hide. With one arm dangling, injured, she was reduced to using her single remaining hand to make her attacks, leaving them weak and clumsy.
“Can you heal her bad arm enough to manage one more attack?” he asked Rose.
The petite girl gave him an alarmed look. “Maybe, but it will bottom out my mana, and there’s no way she can take another hit even if I do.”
“Do it,” Oliver barked, already moving. He had noticed the way the stag was lining up, clearly preparing to gore Beryl with its jagged antlers.
“Double back!” he called to the muscular girl.
Beryl looked at him in surprise–but did just that, taking a quick pair of steps backward, allowing Oliver to leap into the same space she had occupied even as the stag charged forward, more lightning dancing between the points of its antlers.
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For the first time since he had acquired the ability, Oliver found the limits of Reinforced Defense. As he slid his blade into a parry, lifting the antlers upwards while he dipped low, the arcing energy the stormstrike stag had imbued into its attack ran through his blade and into his sword arm, burning and making his muscles jump and tense with electric agony.
Oliver felt his grip on his sword tighten spasmodically as the lightning danced through his muscles, but he gritted his teeth and turned, activating his special attack even as he pulled the blade back down in a sudden slash, the blistering boom of thunder threatening to split his skull.
Reckless Strike–Active, Attack–Make a special attack with potency increased by two tiers. Major stamina cost.
Immediately, spots danced in his vision, the stamina loss combined with the damage he had already taken reaching a crescendo. He lost his balance and fell to his knees, but he was pleased to see what lay in the packed dirt at his side: jagged, lightning bolt-shaped antler, sheared free by his special attack.
The stag reared back with a keening cry, exposing the pale fur of its underbelly, just in time for Beryl to slam her staff into it. Not just that, her thick cudgel now bore a massive rock bound to its end, turning it into an immense earthen hammer, an attack Oliver had never seen from the warden recruit before. Even in pain, the lightning-aspected deer managed to leap back, faster than seemed possible, narrowly dodging the attack. It fell back to all fours, and turned to leap away–only for an invisible wave of force from Oli’s runeblade, the last tool in his arsenal, to catch it midair.
No matter how fast the creature was, it couldn't dodge two attacks at once. The force bolt hit it perfectly, just as it left the ground and could no longer change direction, and knocked it straight down to Beryl’s descending hammer. No doubt combined with some sort of brawler special attack, the improvised stone hammer crushed the monster to the ground with the audible snap of breaking bones.
Oliver panted for breath, the injuries of the fight catching up with him. He felt sure that the sparrows had dislocated at least one of his fingers, if not broken it entirely, and his entire body ached from the redirected lightning in the attack he had parried. His head throbbed, and he heard nothing other than a loud ringing in his ears. Beryl seemed in little better shape, sagging in place with only her staff to hold her up.
By the time he saw Rose hurrying forwards with potions in hand, Oliver decided that maybe a quick nap was the best thing for him at the moment.
#
When he awoke, the wagon was moving underneath him, the late afternoon sunlight forcing it way through the heavy canvas awning overhead. He blinked a couple times, muttering in confusion, then made the mistake of trying to move his left hand. Instantly, silvery pain shot through his arm, forcing out a groan.
“Stop that!” Rose scolded him. Oliver couldn’t see her from his position, and any attempt to sit up promptly told him that his efforts were not worth the pain.
“S’rry…” he slurred.
“Stop trying to talk, idiot!” she told him sharply, her voice seeming louder this time. Had she turned towards him? “I need to wait for my mana to recover, and with both of you knocked out, I have to drive the wagon. So you need to just hold still until we stop for the night!”
“B-Behl?”
“Beryl got herself hurt even worse than you, I already used what potions we had, healing her and refilling my mana enough to keep her alive.”
Well. That explained his hand at least. He knew the damage from the electricity running through his body would be more thorough than a simple potion could fix, but one would’ve at least put his hand back into shape.
“Ishe arigh?”
“She hasn’t woken up yet.” Even through his pain, Oliver could hear the worry in the girl’s voice. “Now stop trying to talk! If you shred your muscles, it’s going to be that much harder to put you back together.”
“Mmngh.”
“Go to sleep, Oli. As long as Beryl’s stable tonight, I’ll get you healed.”
“Mmm.” Oliver had to admit, another nap did sound like a good idea. But he had more questions–how had the rest of the caravan come out? Did they catch any sight of undead? Had Hugo offered anything to help heal them?
Somewhere between thinking of the questions and opening his mouth, everything went dark again.
#
When he awoke again, it was to a refreshing feeling running through his body. Something like a warm bath, a cool breeze on a summer night, and the searing hot first sip of a new tea blend all at once. And underneath the sensation, Oliver couldn’t feel his pain anymore. His scorched muscles no longer protested every movement, and moving his fingers no longer shot pain through his entire being.
Pleased, he let out a sigh and went to sit up–and immediately, strong hands clenched his shoulders and forced him back down.
“Stay still, lad,” an unfamiliar masculine voice growled. Panic shot through Oliver at the gruff words, interrupting the serenity flowing through him, but the man quickly explained, “the lady said you’re not to move til she’s done.”
“Rose?” Oliver asked.
“She’s still working on you.”
Oliver tried to force his eyes open. It was hard, like forcing himself awake in the middle of the night. His body begged for more rest, to bathe in the serenity of Rose’s healing magic, but he bulled through and forced his eyes open.
It was night now. He was laying on the ground, with scant foliage barely obscuring the star-strewn sky overhead. However, between him and the leaves above ran several bright streams of bluish-green light. They flowed in from five equidistant points, two to either side of his shoulder, two more by his hips, and one between his feet.
Kneeling above his head, hands braced on his shoulders, Oliver saw a shape he recognized as one of Hugo’s two laborers. The man gave him a rough, reassuring smile and a small nod of respect.
That mystery answered, Oliver looked down, lifting his head just enough to see past his own toes, and saw Rose kneeling there, her head bowed and fingers knitted together into some sort of intricate pattern in front of him. The air around her glowed with the same turquoise light that was streaming down around him.
The girl was performing some sort of healing, but it was unlike any spell he had ever seen before, an order of magnitude more elaborate than even the slow, thorough healing he had seen her use before. Reassured, Oliver let himself relax back onto the ground, and waited for Rose to finish.
He didn’t have too much longer to go. Slowly, the calming presence of the healing magic began to recede, and Rose told him, “I’m done. You can get up now.” Her voice was limp, exhausted.
Oliver sat up, surprised to not feel any lingering pain or discomfort. Whatever it was Rose had done, it had healed him more thoroughly than he could’ve hoped for, but it was obvious the effort had left the young warden exhausted.
“Thank you,” he told her, as earnestly as he could manage.
The pale girl managed a tired smile in return. “I suppose you earned it.” Her eyes drifted to the large man kneeling behind Oliver, and she told him, “Thank you Derrik, I think we’re all set now.”
The man replied with a dry grunt and got to his own feet. “Aye aye, I’ll give you some space then.” He paused to incline his head to Oliver. “That was some fighting lad, but perhaps put some thought into not running your young lady here so ragged next time.”
“I am not his-”
“I did not-”
The man held up both of his hands at the simultaneous outbursts, and quickly excused himself. “Of course, of course. My respect to both of you,” he told them as he quickly fled, chuckling to himself as he left.
Oliver awkwardly cleared his throat, while Rose seemed intent on studying the stars overhead rather than him. “Beryl?” he finally asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“Sleeping,” Rose told him with a little smile. “She was worse off than you, so she got healed last night. Of course, she still tried to soldier through all day, but the moment we called it for the night, she passed out.”
Oliver snorted an amused breath out of his nose. “Hence Derrik?”
Rose’s cheeks flushed just a tad, and an impish smile brightened her face. “Well, I knew you were going to try to get up as soon as you woke up, and I certainly was not going to be the one holding you down.”
Oliver grinned. The cessation of pain was like a drug on its own, but even more intoxicating was the end of the tension that had defined their past few days. He looked to each side of him, noticing for the first time the intricate design dug into the surrounding dirt. The essential shape was a circle with a five pointed star contained within, but each segment created by the star design held another symbol, all unfamiliar to him.
“What is this?” Oliver asked, gesturing at the engraving. “Is this how you healed me so well?”
Rose gave him a tinkling little giggle, and she nodded in reply. “It’s called an array. It serves as a catalyst for my ritual spell.”
“Ritual spell?”
Rose rolled her bright green eyes, still laughing to herself. “Leave it to you to be asking questions like this mere minutes after being healed from the brink of death.”
Oliver arched a speculative eyebrow. “‘Brink of death,’ was it?”
Rose’s smile turned into an expression imperious enough to give any noble a run for their money. “Indeed. I saved your life.”
“Mhmmmm.”
“I did!”
“I know, I just agreed with you!”
The petite girl narrowed her eyes, but the expression didn’t hide the laughter dancing in them. “You can heal yourself next time.”