Spirit Blade: Book III of the Dragon Mage Trilogy (15 page)

Chapter 13

G
alado rose stiffly after a fitful night where he battled for control of his body. The original spirit seemed to come out of the depths every time he wanted to get some sleep. It knew that was when his control was weakest. He still did not understand why the original spirit was not left behind at the time travel bridge where it was supposed to be. What could possibly be causing such an unbreakable bond? He ground his teeth in frustration. He needed to get his true body soon. That was his priority.

It was still well before dawn when Galado got dressed and went down the stairs to the main level. The house was lit with expensive oil lamps and Galado’s crew was busy finishing preparations for departure. They were in the estate of the wealthy merchant, which belonged to the old man who had been slain in the coach.

Some documents in the coach had indicated the address in the next town where he resided with his three daughters. After seizing control of the coach and guard’s bodies, they had made their way straight to that destination.

Upon arrival, some men had opened the gates leading to the estate. Two of Galado’s men had quickly dispatched the gate keepers while Galado and his crew had ridden boldly up to the house. They had dismounted and barged into the house led by Galado, where he and his entourage had then made quick work of the staff. Catching everyone off guard, the operation had been swift and mostly noiseless.

There was only one thing that had not gone according to plan. The doorman who had been preparing to open the door for his master had been stunned by Galado’s intrusion. He had been about to object, when Galado’s sword pierced his chest. He had sagged to his knees as Galado pulled the sword free. Then he had fallen over and his eyes faded, while blood appeared at his mouth. In the meantime, Galado’s men and women had swarmed into the house in order to dispatch the rest of the unwary staff. Galado had waited for the inevitable surge of energy from his sword to enter the dead doorman’s body, but none had come. A faint laugh had echoed in his brain and whispered in hoarse glee. “Hah! You can’t use that trick anymore! You’re out of souls! Hee, hee, hee!” Galado had tried to shake the voice from his head. He had grimly set about looking for other people to slay, only to discover the voice was right. There would be no more spirits joining his army.

After the gruesome work had been done, he had issued some orders to his crew. Then he had used the luxurious dwelling to bathe and shave, and then found a comfortable bed in order to get some rest.

Now, as he emerged in the dining room, he saw eight of the ten of his army present in various bodies, waiting patiently for his arrival.

One man, dressed in sentry garb, rose and beckoned to the table where a warm meal sat waiting. “Help yourself to some food, Boss. Everything’s under control. Three and Five have the gate house under control. No one will interrupt us.”

“I take it you’re One?” asked Galado, acknowledging the guard.

“Yes,” said One.

Galado nodded and sat down to have breakfast while the others watched. It was an odd feeling, but he knew they no longer needed food to sustain themselves.

While Galado ate, he formulated a plan to reach the front lines of the human army and then make his escape to the other side. It was just as well his crew was not too large. Stealth would play an important role in the days ahead. He looked up at One. “Do we have enough horses and weapons available?”

One nodded. “Yes.”

“Supplies?”

“Yes. We packed as per your orders last night.”

“Bodies?”

“Stashed under the hay in the stables.”

“Good,” said Galado. He finished his breakfast in silence and rose to his feet. “Does everyone have a body that is presentable and will last a while?” As he spoke, he noted the three women among them. He approved of their battle attire and weapons. The old man must have had an impressive armoury to draw from. The women looked just as ready for battle as the men.

“We do,” said One. “In fact, some of us are finding we can make the bodies last a little longer than at first. It’s a matter of getting used to the new body each time.”

“Good,” said Galado. “We have several days’ ride ahead of us. I do not want to waste time.”

“What should we do about the estate?” asked one of the women.

“We lock it up so no one can enter,” said Galado. “The longer it takes to discover what happened here, the better. We should be long gone by that time.”

The woman nodded.

“Let’s be ready to leave in twenty minutes,” said Galado.

“Right, Boss,” said One. He turned to the others. “You heard him. Let’s get cracking!”

Less than twenty minutes later the gang emerged from the estate grounds on horseback. They exited the gates quietly and locked them securely behind them. The estate was close to the edge of town, so they had no difficulty emerging onto the road heading in a westerly direction. As they widened the gap between the town and themselves, they increased their pace. One led an extra pack horse with basic supplies, gold and food for the ‘Boss’. No one looked behind them or felt the slightest remorse for the deaths they had caused. All that mattered now were Galado’s objectives.

*      *      *      *      *

The warlock closed his spell book and took a deep breath. The spells were starting to blur before his eyes. Perhaps a short break would clear his mind. He needed a temporary diversion and got one just then when he heard a timid knock on the curtain support post.

“What is it, Gorc?” asked the warlock.

Gorc jumped in surprise - not that the warlock knew it was he, but that he wasn’t being berated for his interruption. “Um, Sir, there’s a messenger here to see you,” stammered the goblin-orc.

“Who is it?” asked the warlock.

“Um, it’s um,” stammered Gorc. The warlock still hadn’t yelled at him.

“Out with it, you useless creature!” snapped the warlock. “Maybe you’ll talk better without your tongue getting in the way! Should I tear it out for you?”

That was more like it. “An ogre is here to speak with you,” managed Gorc.

The warlock straightened in his chair. “Did you say ‘ogre’?”

“Y-yes, Sir,” stammered Gorc.

“Why didn’t you say so?!” growled the warlock. “Show him into the main command room. Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Gorc. He bowed and left hastily.

The warlock’s pulse quickened in anticipation of this encounter. This was the meeting he had been waiting for. If his plans concerning the ogres panned out, he would have the upper hand in the war. It was time to sweet talk the ogres into supporting his cause. All he had to do was find out what they wanted and offer it to them. They weren’t a complicated race; they were just as greedy as the others who now served him. It was just a matter of exploiting that greed for his own purposes.

He quickly put on one of his better robes - a shimmering metallic blue cape of elven silk that could not be torn, sewn over a stainless lightweight chainmail. The chainmail was not visible or noticeable to anyone, and was barely noticeable to the warlock himself, thanks to the magic he had applied to it making it virtually weightless. He smoothed his hair and mustache, and stroked his goatee. Then he made his way into the conference room where the ogre commander stood uncertainly.

The warlock stewed at Gorc’s ineptitude. “Please! Have a seat!” he beckoned to his visitor. “You’ve come a long way and should have a rest!” He looked over his shoulder and bellowed, “Gorc! Have some food and drink brought in for my guest!”

“Yes, Sir,” squeaked a weak voice from the next room.

The warlock turned his attention back to the ogre, who was already sitting down. The ogre removed his cap and the warlock was astounded to see that the ogre was in fact a female, with light brown hair which fell down to her shoulders in a straggly mess. Her hard features and helmet had made her appear like one of the many males of her species. But then male and female ogres were difficult to tell apart under normal circumstances anyway.

Regaining his composure, the warlock sat opposite his guest and displayed a beguiling smile. “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

The ogre did not smile back. “I am Commander Becka, and I come to make a trade.”

“A trade?”

The ogre nodded. “We have a common enemy in the humans. For some time now we have been trying to thwart the humans by interfering with the flow of weapons from the dwarves. When successful, we succeed in accumulating finely crafted weapons and armour which, as you know, are unequaled in strength and durability.”

“I applaud your efforts,” said the warlock. He was surprised to note the sophisticated level of speech from this ogre. Most ogres spoke in short, blunt phrases. This one had a higher level of intellect than he had imagined possible from these creatures. He would have to watch his step. “Please, continue.”

The ogre nodded. “We have gotten to the point of storing large numbers of these weapons and armour, including helmets and shields; more than we require ourselves; yet our campaign rages on.”

“Continue,” said the warlock. He was interested in finding out where this was leading.

“Recently, the dwarves have been increasing their security around the convoys of goods, forcing us to gather in larger numbers,” continued the ogre. “This is making ambush nearly impossible. As a result of our numbers, we are spotted well in advance. Then the dwarven guards send a signal to the convoy and they make haste in another direction. Since they are on horseback, we are unable to catch up to them. Our speed is no match for them and they use that to their advantage.” Becka shrugged. “Occasionally we get lucky and corner them in an area where the going is difficult, but their scouts ensure this doesn’t happen often. And when we do engage them, the fighting is fierce. Our warriors grumble because there does not seem to be a point to their efforts. The humans continue to battle on. Even skirmishes along their northern border are going nowhere. They have numbers on their side, as well as magic.”

“I see your dilemma,” said the warlock.

At this point Gorc came in with a tray and placed a hot meal in front of the warlock and his guest. Then he poured two glasses of elven wine before swiftly departing.

“So, commander,” began the warlock as his guest dug unceremoniously into her food, “how can I be of help?”

Becka gave the first inclination of a smile. “I noticed your forces are a little under equipped for this war.” She took another bite of her food. “You could use some better weapons and armour.”

“Indeed,” said the warlock slowly. The ogre was not exaggerating. His army’s weapons were sub-par. He took a bite of his own food so as not to appear concerned. “And what can I offer in exchange?”

Becka swallowed her food, obviously enjoying the flavour. “We need something to give us an edge in our struggle. It would be useful to have access to magic. That would not only even the odds against the human guard posts, but would make it possible for us to stem the flow of weapons from the dwarves. Even though the dwarves are naturally more resistant to magic, we could use the magic in other, more creative ways.”

The warlock grinned inwardly. So that was it! The ogres did not wield magic, and wanted some to increase their chances of success! He ate some more food, using the pause to think of what to say. “Ok,” he said as he stroked his goatee. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement. What did you have in mind?”

Becka nodded. “We will give you our surplus weapons in exchange for a contingent of lizardmages. The magic will go a long way in slowing down the shipments of weapons to the humans you now face.”

The warlock frowned. “I can continue my campaign regardless of what weapons we wield. It doesn’t matter to me what the enemy uses. We will kill them for their weapons if need be. We’ll get them one way or another. My problem is the numbers of humans we have to deal with, not their weapons.”

“Then we have no deal?” asked Becka. Her expression was dour.

The warlock held up his hand and grinned. “Don’t be so hasty! I didn’t say that!”

“Then what do you propose?”

The warlock smiled gently and calmly took another bite of food. “I value your efforts more than you know, commander. I propose that you supply us with your weapons while I provide you with a contingent of lizardmen you requested, with the added assurance that you combine your forces for an attack on the human guard posts and villages situated along their northern front. There will be minimal magical resistance since they will all be concentrating on my forces here.”

Becka blinked. Then she spoke slowly. “Such an undertaking will be difficult. As I mentioned earlier, our numbers are too small to overcome that of the humans.” The warlock frowned but the ogre continued. “However, we could probably succeed with the backing of an extra contingent of lizardmen. Just having them there will give our warriors the confidence they need to succeed.”

The warlock thought for a moment and then smiled. “We have ourselves a deal!” He rose and held out his hand. The ogre rose also, making him feel small in comparison. She was a good foot taller than he. She took his hand into her giant one and shook it.

The warlock raised his glass of wine. “A toast to our new alliance!”

Becka, not used to such a delicate glass, gingerly took it in her gargantuan hand and held it up. “A toast.”

They both downed the contents.

“If we succeed in driving back the humans,” continued the warlock, “we can join forces and you won’t have to worry about being outnumbered. After this undertaking, you are welcome to join the winning side; under my command, of course.”

Becka grunted. “If this works, you have our allegiance.” She put down her glass. “I ride out in the morning.”

“I’ll have your spell casters ready to move out when you’re ready,” assured the warlock.

Becka put her helmet back on and trudged out of the tent, her helmet squishing past the top of the opening. Entering at that moment and looking tiny compared to the previous guest was Gorc. He looked nervously over his shoulder. “The new contingents of orcs have arrived, Sir, along with two contingents of lizardmen.”