Swartze

Chapter 50!! Thanks for all the comments, reviews, ratings, follows, favorites and everything else. I started this story to help keep myself consist as having a reader base would keep me more in line and I think I've learned much more than just that. KK, now to the story, and thanks again.

Fifteen hundred soldiers with iron blades and armour made from leather to iron stood in formation. Behind them a thousand supply men waited in loose formations with short swords and padded cloth armour. In front of them an enchanted wooden palisade stood tall in.

“In the name of Duke Carling, I speak to you soldiers of the traitorous viscount Belli. Surrender your arms and hand over the traitor and you will be spared. If you refuse, be prepared to enter hell.” The messenger scurried back towards the Carling camp atop his lizard mount.

In all honesty Damon was disappointed. Here he was awaiting a battle filled with fire, pillars of earth, blood, and steel. Yet here were two camps. One which outnumbered the other ten to one. And that smaller group stood atop the wall one hand over their sword pummels and the other atop their stomachs.

And as expected, the gates soon creaked open. Five soldiers pushed an unconscious young man into the muddy earth beyond the gates. Soon, all the soldiers filtered out with their weapons in hand, which they dropped at the entrance of the town. A group of soldiers Carling soldiers took a few steps forwards. In response the unarmed enemy soldiers walked three hundred metres beyond the walls.

All in all, it looked like a wonderfully choreographed play. Damon didn’t know why there was such a tedious process to surrender. Dropping one’s arms should be more than enough. Next the group of soldiers split in twenty groups, each heading in their own direction. They soon laid on the ground, face down with their hands atop their heads.

Damon wanted facepalm. He’d forgotten that magic didn’t require items to be used. A condensed group of unarmed men was still an army if they had high-level magic.

Anyhow, the viscount’s soldiers soon surrounded the rebels and chained their hands and their legs with locks which forced their palms inwards, towards their stomachs and whose legs could barely take a step.

“Is that all,” I whispered to myself? Unfortunately for me Tennito overheard me.

“Of course, that’s all. The soldiers didn’t know what they were up against and now faced with two thousand blades they acted as conscious and reasonable individuals. They valued their lives and surrendered. Not that such common sense could get through the skull of a black mage.”

This motherfucker is really getting on my nerves. “And it seems that to be a commander around these parts one also needs to be a pseudo-intellectual.” Damon pulled his reins and headed back to camp where a hot pot awaited him. He would drown his shitty insult in cups of beer.

#

Now with the rear cleared it was time to move into the enemy’s territory. With three dukes on the black mage’s side against the royals and the two loyalist dukes everyone had their enemies set. For the Carline, even though they were the weakest participant in the conflict they were charged with dealing with the royals since they were the closest to the capital. No doubt the dukes of Bilvedillo and Frenle had planned this out to seize more power when the dust settled. Of course, this would cause complications, however, a civil war without civil disagreements within the rebel front wasn’t possible.

#

Tennito slammed his fist against the table. The map, unlit candles, ink, and plums flew into the air. Blood rushed to his head through veinous hills on his forehead. “Damon, I need you to take care of the royals scouting party.

For the past month of campaigning Tennito had yet to ask Damon’s help second time. Well, they had mostly gone from village to village, pillaging, plundering, and setting up convoy posts for their supply lines. Still, Damon hadn’t expected to be called upon lest they faced the royal army. “What’s happened?” asked Damon.

“What’s happened!” yelled Tennito. “Where have you been. Have you not heard our conversations?” With a large swing of his arm, he knocked over the ink cups which splashed against the tent’s white and brownish-red tarps. “Is this a game to you? Even if you couldn’t care less for our lives. If we lose, you too will lose yours. Do you not think they know of you and your role?” Tennito stood up and stared into Damon’s eyes. “Must you always stare into the moon? Must you always listen to the cricket’s chirps instead of the suffering of the peasants or the tears within the hearts of the warriors?” He turned back to face the advisors who stared into Damon’s eyes. “I have ten patrol squads.” He tapped the map with his index finger.

Damon was afraid he would snap it. The table that is. Levels were no joke.

“Ten squads which have been running around twenty cardinal direction day in and day out. They cannot fight, the lizards are dead tired, and knights aren’t scouts. That leaves you and your group. Which, if I may remind you, is allied with my lord in this conflict. Now go out and either chase away the enemy scouts or kill them and their mounts.

Damon understood the man’s plea. And honestly, he was a bit disappointed that the conflict had been so stale since its inception. After all peace didn’t encourage the increase in level and the stressed state of the camp mean, he couldn’t practise his skills without raising twenty alarms. “I never said that I would refuse,” answered Damon. “It was only the curiosity of a black mage.”

Tennito almost blew a nerve; however, his red head remained spared from blood as he handed Damon a piece of parchment with the directions to the scout’s general location.

“Thank you,” said Damon. “I’ll get to work tonight.” Feeling like an unwelcome guess Damon left the tent, crumpled up the parchment, and went to take a nap in his tent.

#

Day came and went. The moon rose high in the air and Damon took flight once again. His silvery wings reflected the moonlight. As such, Damon activated shadow melt and lessen reflection. And with the aid of his night vision and elf vision he could see beasts sleep, roam, and eat below the tree canopies. He enjoyed this pass time unavailable to him in his previous life. Isolated from anything and feeling as free as a piece of paper being carried by the wind Damon began to mutter to himself, “Why can’t I just leave and explore the world? Why should I follow Stolas? I know he has given me much but, freedom, complete freedom is nice as well. I don’t need money, I don’t need levels, I don’t need skills. Talking, wandering, and sleeping sounds like a good life.”

However, this contemplation couldn’t last as he saw a raging light source in the middle of a small clearing. He had found his targets. Although he wished he could drop down from the sky and take them out with a swift strike of his claw. He only had two feet, and they had twelve men.

Attached to his waist a small bag hung tightly against him. With the claws on the tip of his fingers he tore off its leather strap, folded up his wings, and let gravity take him straight towards the fire which kept the men warm. And when he was no less than fifty metres above them, he let the bag fall, let his wings spread and hastily started to beat them as he essentially hovered in mid-air.

Unable to see such a tiny pouch from so high up he flew circles above the camp and soon he saw what looked like silhouettes of bears and wolves encircle the camp. The men stood up, took up arms and put up a valiant defence. However, when they had lost four of their twelve men and no new beasts came to join the fray Damon decided his time had come. As such, like a hawk in the midst of a hunt, he locked his eyes on a man. The smallest one of the bunch as this would be his first time trying this maneuver. He frantically flapped his wings and descended with a forty-five degrees angle of attack. And soon his claws, sharpened by anticipation grabbed onto the man’s shoulders and brought him up into the sky.

“Help! Help! A dragon. A dragon is here!” Yelled the man. His arms flayed which made the claws dig deeper into his flesh. Deep enough to make blood squirt onto Damon’s torso. At which point they were perhaps thirty metres above ground. Damon released his grip. The man fell and got impaled by a thick tree branch.

This is a rather viable strategy. Thought Damon as he did a one eighty and flew back in the direction of the camp. Six men were left. This time, while they were killing wolves and bears the men were occasionally looking high above towards the moon.

As a self-proclaimed comedian Damon decided to play a bit and tried to imitate the screech of an eagle, however, it really didn’t sound good, and the men didn’t react. No doubt thinking a bird had stubbed its toe. As such Damon tried to imitate an owl. A loud, high pitch, and ear tearing screech resounded. The men this time, all turned their attention to the sky, where Damon, now having fun decided to put on a show. And so, he turned off his shadow melt and lessen reflection, unveiling his beautiful plumage for all to see.

Marvelling at the beast in the air, two scouts were mauled by wolves. And the last four soon became toys for Damon’s ego or bear kibble.

Swartze

In the next chapter we'll be introduced to the enemy.