Dragon Mage 021 - Reflections (Patreon)

390 days until the Arkon Shield falls

4 days to Earth’s destruction

Many believe dragonfire to be myth and not fact. Yet the snippets of lore and text the Elders left behind are rife with mention of it. Dragonfire is as real as the Elders. —Arustolyx, gnomish archaeologist.

Despite my exhaustion, sleep did not come easily, and when it did, it brought troubled dreams and nightmares that had me tossing and turning. After waking up screaming for the third time to horrifying images of headless corpses and rivers awash with blood, I gave up on sleep altogether.

Rubbing my red-rimmed, swollen eyes, I ducked out my tent and into the brisk, night air. The sky had begun to lighten and dawn was not far off. The rest of the camp still appeared asleep though. Good, it will give me a moment to think.

I looked about for something to drink. But other than the pail of water inside my tent, there was nothing else available. What I wouldn’t do for a cup of coffee.

Slaking my thirst with half the pail’s contents, I dunked my head in the rest. Then I sat down cross-legged outside my tent and considered my plans for the new day.

My training last night had finished off well. I had my raised my magic Attributes and my skill in both the life and dragon magic Disciplines. I even managed not to set the tent on fire, I thought wryly.

Control over the dragon spell, flare, had proved difficult at first. Dragonfire craved to blaze free and wild—guzzling my mana, stamina, and health in the process. In hindsight, I realised I had been fortunate my spellpower was low when I’d begun practicing. Otherwise I would have surely set everything within my immediate vicinity ablaze—or been consumed from within myself.

Yet the spell could be controlled.

By throttling the mana and lifeblood I infused in flare’s spellform, I had succeeded in reducing the resulting flames and its energy drain. It made for an interesting dynamic, one which might be tricky to control in battle. But by the end of my training, I had improved my control to the extent I felt comfortable employing the spell in actual combat.

Opening the Trials core in my mind, I reviewed my other gains from last night.

Your skill in dragon and life magic has advanced to: level 10 and reached: rank 2, Trainee.

Your channelling and spellpower have increased to: level 5.

I have made good progress, I thought with a pleased smile. But despite my improvements, I was concerned about what flare boded for my future growth.

If all other dragon spells consumed life, stamina, and mana, I would have to split my Attribute advancements between Resilience, Might, and Magic Potentials, where originally I had intended on using the Marks I earned solely on magic Attributes.

In particular, I would have to invest in both vigour and constitution. The first influenced the size of my stamina pool, and the second determined my health pool. And I simply did not have enough Marks for such widespread investment.

Of course, I could just avoid dragon magic altogether, use it sparingly or not make an attempt to maximise the benefits I derived from the Discipline.

But that would be a mistake.

I could not ignore the lore note. If dragon spells were three times stronger than the spells from other magic Disciplines, it would give me the edge I needed when facing enemies both stronger and more numerous.

“I need more Marks,” I muttered, stating the obvious. But how to get them? The Trials had awarded me two Marks for discovering the flare spell, and if it did that for every other dragon spell I discovered it might add up to a tidy sum… but how many new spells could I create?

Not nearly enough for the Attributes I want—no, need.

If I was going to have my revenge on the orcs, I had to push the limits of what I could gain from the Trials, and even then, I had few illusions that destroying the Orcish Federation would be easy.

If only I had earned two mythic Traits instead of one from slaying my mum’s killers, then I could have—

Wait a minute.

I stilled as a half-remembered thought surfaced. There had been a piece of text in the wiki that had made mention of acquiring Traits. It had struck me as odd at the time. Because unlike everything else in the wiki—which was meticulously laid out and unambiguous—that particular passage had been hidden in an unrelated section of text.

I hadn’t paid the passage much attention, thinking it a mistake. But now, recalling what Tara had said about the Sponsors and the pledges they required of humans, I wondered.

The text in question had spoken of dungeons.

Dungeons were an important resource in Overworld. Seeded with large numbers of hostile creatures, they were considered a quick and reliable means of gaining experience and levelling.

This was likely because the Trials seemed to replace slain creatures over time. How was anybody’s guess, but there was no doubting that players entering a dungeon could expect to find it populated with a wealth of enemies.

All of that meant a settlement that claimed a dungeon had an assured means of advancing its players. None of this was a secret though, and while it made dungeons nearly as vital as mines, it did not make them extraordinary.

Yet the strange passage in the wiki had alluded to dungeons yielding even more. It had suggested that after a dungeon was cleared for the first time, the responsible players would be gifted with Traits.

I hadn’t placed much stock in the information. The potential for such a mechanic to create imbalanced players was too obvious and I could see no reason why the Trials would reward players like that.

But… the Trials was not fair. Indeed, it seemed to eschew fairness altogether. I could not forget that.

If dungeons cleared for the first time granted Traits, then their value was incalculable: I, better than anyone, understood that. It would also explain why the elves had demanded the pledges that they had from humanity.

From what Tara had said, human citizens in the elven cities were prevented from even entering a dungeon. And why would any Sponsor bother with forbidding that? Dungeons respawned, after all. Unless. I pursed my lips in thought.

Unless dungeons do grant Traits.

I nodded to myself. The further I thought on it, the more convinced I was that I was right. I could see it now.

When the Arkon Shield dropped, a swarm of high-level teams from the other Dominions would invade, seeking to be the first to claim the new dungeons. I scowled. And the orcs—our Patrons—had a head start on the others.

I expected that the orcs, as the only ones with a free run of the Human Dominion during the isolation period, would use the year to locate and secure every dungeon they found. They’d do that both to prevent any upstart human from robbing them of their prize and, of course, to save the rewards for their own players.

Before this point, I hadn’t understood why the other races would go to all the trouble of becoming Patrons and Sponsors. But if it gave them a leg up on their rivals in the race to get to new Traits? Then yes, it would make sense—a frightening amount of sense.

But the Trials, I realised, hadn’t left humanity completely bereft either. The Arkon Shield gave us some breathing room. And the dungeons gave us a chance. If human players claimed the dungeons’ first-clearance Traits, we could at least tilt the odds a bit more in humanity’s favour, if not level the playing field altogether.

We only had a year, though.

I knew then what my focus had to be in the coming months: I need to find and clear as many dungeons as possible.

But I was getting ahead of myself.

Dungeon hunting was a task for tomorrow. I chuckled. I was being overly optimistic. More likely it will be weeks before I can set off in search of a dungeon, I thought with a wry smile. Dungeons were notoriously challenging, and I was by no means ready—yet.

Before I could attempt one, I needed to get stronger. A large part of that I could achieve by helping to secure location seventy-eight. Not to mention, once the settlement was established, it would provide me with a safe base of operations, including food, supplies, and equipment.

And my magic, I knew, could be the key to securing the Outpost. I chewed my lip worriedly. This brought me back to the problem of my Attributes. In the near future, there was little I could do to gain more Marks. Until I increased my Attributes and expanded my reserves of energy, I would have to be sparing in the use of my spells.

I eyed the messages in my Trials core again. My resilience and might Attributes couldn’t be enhanced further without increasing my player level. But my magic Attributes still had a way to go.

I had yet to figure out a way to advance elemental resistance, and I couldn’t train spellpower without using mana, which I refused to do at the moment. With a full day ahead of me, my mana was too precious to burn away in training.

It was one of the harsh realities of Overworld that, short of sleep and natural resting, there was no way to regenerate mana. At least, none that the wiki had hinted at.

There was no such thing as a mana regeneration Discipline. And food helped even less than it did with stamina. It was a mage’s biggest weakness. It also gave warriors a viable strategy for defeating spellcasters.

So, if I can’t train spellpower, what about channelling?

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. Perhaps it could be trained without actual spellcasting. My newcomer buff hadn’t expired yet. I glanced up at the sky. I had perhaps an hour to dawn. Time enough to get in some more training, I thought.

Closing my eyes, I began to mediate, channelling mana up from the deep pool at my centre and into my mind before letting it fall back again, then repeating the entire process. One endless loop. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down…

✽✽✽

My snore broke off and my eyes snapped open as Tara shook me again.

For a second, I didn’t know where I was. I blinked, and the camp snapped into focus. The sun was shining down, and people were up and about. I had fallen asleep.

“Hey, you there, fish?” Tara asked, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

I turned towards her.

“You slept here all night?” she asked.

I yawned. “No, I came out maybe an hour before dawn,” I mumbled absently while I considered the two Trials messages hovering before me for attention.

Your channelling has increased to: level 10 and reached: rank 2, Trainee.

Your newcomer buff has expired.

I sighed in relief. I had managed to advance my channelling after all.

“Something the matter?” Tara asked.

“No,” I replied, deciding not to elaborate. “Where to now?”

“Breakfast first,” she replied. “Then we head to the river. Here, arm yourself with these,” she said, handing me a club and shield.

I looked at her questioningly.

“You will be better able to protect yourself with a club and shield than a long spear. And right now, it’s more important for you to stay alive than to kill murluks.”

My lips turned down, but I knew Tara was right. While I hadn’t fared too badly on the spear wall yesterday, there had been some hair-raising moments. “Will the murluks attack today?” I asked while I equipped the weapons.

Tara shrugged. “They have every day so far. I expect today will be no different.” Then, unable to contain her curiosity any longer, she asked, “Did you manage to learn any spells?”

I smiled. “You’ll see.”

✽✽✽

Tara hurried me through the crafting yard for breakfast. The area was packed with hundreds of spearmen, all in a similar rush. In passing, someone shoved a bowl of porridge—at least that was what I thought it was—into my hands.

I looked for a place to sit.

“No time,” Tara said, seeing me stop. She had gotten her own bowl from somewhere and was gulping down its contents as she walked. “We eat on the move,” she said around another mouthful.

I looked at her askance, but nodded agreeably. Limping in her shadow, I scooped up the thin gruel while studying the yard with interest.

Smaller campfires for cooking and larger fire pits with skins and chunks of meat smoking over them dotted the space. But the area was too crowded with fighters for me to spot any of the crafters themselves.

We cleared the crowds and reached the edge of the crafting yard. Tara carelessly dropped her empty bowl onto the ground. “Leave yours too,” she ordered. “One of the cooks will collect them later.”

She is in a hurry, I thought. Slurping down the last of my breakfast, I discarded my own bowl and followed her west towards the river.

“How’s your body?” Tara asked as we made our way through the empty training grounds. “Still sore?”

“It’s much better,” I replied with a small grin.

“Told you you’d feel better in the morning,” Tara said. “But don’t forget to stretch before the battle.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As we neared the edge of the upper riverbank, I spotted dozens of men and women working within the ditch we had crossed yesterday. “What are they doing?” I asked in surprise.

“The foundations for the fortifications were completed yesterday,” replied Tara. “This morning, the crafters are beginning to erect the wall itself.”

Her face creased with worry. “We are running out of time, Jamie. The constant battles are taking their toll, and the number of new recruits from Earth has fallen off sharply.” Her voice turned grim. “We aren’t replenishing our ranks fast enough. If we don’t finish the construction soon…” She shook her head in denial. “From now on, the crafters will work while we fight.”

I stared aghast at the unarmoured crafters in the trenches. “But if we get overrun on the river, they’ll be defenceless!” I exclaimed.

“They will have to bear the risk,” Tara said. Her eyes were hard and unflinching when she met my own. “It is up to us to make sure it doesn’t come to that, Jamie.”

I nodded slowly, studying the crafters as we drew closer. None of them glanced our way. Intent on their labours, the workers were oblivious to all else around them. I swallowed. If the murluks breached the spearmen’s line, the crafters would not survive long.

Reaching the trench, we made our way across one of the many logs that bridged the dug-out ditch. All along the upper bank, spearmen were hurrying to the river over similarly placed logs.

I glanced over the bank’s edge and saw that over a hundred fighters had already gathered on the shores of the lower bank. The Outpost’s spearmen, armed and ready, sat in a line formation two rows deep as they waited for the murluks to make an appearance.

Behind the double line, which grew as more troops streamed down the riverbank, was a neatly formed square, and at its centre was an easily recognizable white-haired figure.

My eyebrows rose. “What is she doing here?” I asked.

Tara glanced in the direction I looked. “The old lady will command today’s battle. We lost too many yesterday and we can’t afford for our defences to falter, especially today. Not with the craftsmen exposed.” Her gaze darted to mine. “Besides,” she added, amusement colouring her voice, “I think the old lady is curious—as we all are—to see your magic in action.”

I rubbed my chin and fought off a grimace. I didn’t know myself what to expect from my magic and I hoped the commander wasn’t going to place too much stock in it. Something else was puzzling me. “Why wasn’t the commander here yesterday?”

Tara sighed. “Holding the murluks at the river is important, but the dragon temple itself is more crucial. The temple isn’t indestructible. On our second day here, it was almost destroyed.

“That day, while the entire population of the Outpost was embroiled in a pitched battle with the murluks, a pack of ogres trampled through our camp and attacked the temple from the east. We were fortunate that a new arrival through the gate noticed and warned us of what was transpiring. We managed to save the temple before it crumbled away entirely.”

I frowned. “I didn’t see any damage yesterday. It looked new.”

Tara shrugged. “Whatever magic created the dragon temples also seems to repair them too. As long as a temple hasn’t been completely destroyed, it will restore itself—or so I am told. As it was, our temple was unusable for nearly a full day while it reconstructed itself. Since then, the old lady usually holds herself in reserve in the camp or at the temple itself.”

I turned over Tara’s words in my mind as I slipped down the upper bank. Matters in the settlement were more desperate than I’d imagined. And it will only get worse. Once the gate to Earth closed, the Outpost would get no further reinforcements. What would become of the settlement then?

I shook my head. The commander and her people were racing against the clock just as much as I was. Tara was right. If they didn’t secure the Outpost soon, location seventy-eight was doomed.

Are the other neutral locations struggling this much? I wondered. If so, what did it mean for humanity? Given the difficulties faced by the Outpost, I began to seriously question whether humanity would be able to establish an independent colony anywhere in the Dominion—a Dominion that was supposedly our own.

What will become of us then?

Would humanity, as a free, independent people vanish? Would we only continue to exist as subjects—slaves or citizens—of our Patrons and Sponsors? It was an unsettling thought, and it served to redouble my determination in helping Tara’s people establish their settlement.

Before I move on, as inevitably, I must.

Arriving on the lower bank’s muddy stretches, Tara strode directly towards the commander and the rear-guard. “Alright, gentlemen,” the old lady was saying as we walked up from behind, “you have your orders. Let’s be about it. And remember we need every man. Make sure no one takes foolish risks today.”

Petrov spotted our approach. With a jab of his chin in our direction, he alerted the commander to our presence. Jolin turned around. “Tara,” she greeted. “I trust you know your orders already?” The old lady’s gaze darted to me. “Keep our mage alive.”

Startled exclamations rose from the men close enough to overhear, and soon a furious ripple of whispers rolled through the ranks. I stifled a groan. The commander, it seemed, was no longer keeping my status a secret.

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Tara with a snapped-off salute.

The old lady rested her gaze on me. She had to be conscious of the keen interest her words had sparked, yet her face betrayed no awareness. “Good morning, Jamie,” Jolin said affably. “I heard you had quite an afternoon yesterday.”

I shrugged, trying to match her nonchalance. I knew what the old lady was doing, and I didn’t appreciate it. The commander was using me to give her troops hope. Which was all well and good for them and her, but less so for me.

I could feel the pressure of the soldiers’ gazes. They are not my responsibility, I told myself firmly. It is not up to me to save them all. “Just training,” I answered, struggling to appear unaffected by the dozens of eyes trained upon me. It was not easy.

Jolin raised one eyebrow, though she didn’t comment further on the subject. “We have another difficult battle today. Will you be able to offer us any assistance?” she asked, with seeming indifference.

I wanted to answer no, yet under the crushing weight of the soldiers’ expectations, I felt myself saying something else entirely.

“I can.”

I knew immediately it was a foolish thing to say. My magic was untried and untested. My plan had been to try a few minor experiments during the battle. Nothing flashy. Nothing risky. Nothing that would attract too much attention to myself

Only that is no longer the case, is it? I thought with unhappy amusement. You and your big mouth. Now these men are going to expect you to save them. What possessed you, Jamie? Why didn’t you deny the commander?

But I knew why. Tara’s words flashed into my mind again: ‘They will have to bear the risk.’ The image of the defenceless crafters in the trenches accompanied it, as did the hungry hope in the soldiers looking on.

I sighed and elaborated further. “I have a spell that should hurt the murluks badly.”

A momentary look of surprise flitted across the commander’s face—so quick I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been watching for it. She scrutinised me carefully, and her own face grew grave as if she’d somehow divined the direction of my thoughts. “What do you need?”

“Only someone to guard my back. Tara can do that well enough.”

“Nothing else?” asked the commander, one eyebrow raised in polite disbelief.

I hesitated. “Space, maybe,” I said.

“Space?”

I nodded. “I am not sure how well I can control the magic.”

The commander frowned. “You will not injure my men.” It was not a request.

I bowed my head, receiving her message loud and clear.

“Where do you want to take up position?” she asked.

I looked over the rows of spearmen sitting in the mud. The battle line stretched a few hundred yards in both directions already. “On the north flank,” I answered, choosing it for no other reason than that I had been there yesterday.

A shout rang out from the south, drawing our attention. The river’s water had begun to froth and bubble. As I watched, a bulbous head broke the surface.

The murluks had arrived.

“Well,” said the commander, “you’d best be on your way, Jamie. It looks like the battle is about to begin.”

I nodded sharply. Swinging about, I shuffled towards the right end of the spear line with my crippled foot dragging behind me.

“Jamie?” called the commander. I stopped and turned around to face her. “Good luck.”

“You too, ma’am,” I said, before hurrying off again.