“Guys, this doesn’t look good,” Grigor called over his shoulder. Davros crept over to the ridge next to Grigor and surveyed the scene below.
There must have been fifty of them, wearing a hodgepodge of armor and weapons scavenged from fallen foes and trade caravans. The only common thread was their purple sashes. How bandits managed to obtain that much fine fabric was anyone’s guess. It seemed unlikely they would have purchased it. And who ever heard of a bandit seamstress? Grigor and Davros pulled back from the ridge to explain the situation to the rest of their party.
There were Tink and Clink, twin inventors from the countryside. Tink was older by only two minutes, but as they were born around midnight, it gave them separate birthdays. This rarely mattered, but it meant Clink couldn’t drink mead until an entire day after Tink could when they were turning nineteen. They were bright, but their poor station had kept their inventions from reaching marketable heights. Both hoped the mercenary work would pay well enough to fund a proper workspace and quality materials.
There was also Zand, a young sorcerer from the capital. He had stalled in his magical developments and was using his talents to busk when Grigor had come across him. The money didn’t matter much, but the chance for adventure sounded like a nice change of pace. And maybe the money would be nice after all.
Grigor was the scout of the party, due to his eyesight being better than any of the rest by a fair measure. He would have preferred to have become a royal guard, but he was too short and scrawny to make the cut. He saved a good portion of his wages from the tavern to buy his crossbow. It was custom made with a crank handle allowing the firing of multiple bolts before reloading. His hopes of showing he could handle the adventurer’s life lead him to making such a purchase. Davros had been in the same merchant’s shop and mistakenly assuming the purchase of such an exquisite weapon meant he knew how to use it, offered the young man a place in his band of mercenaries. Grigor leaped at the chance. That was four years ago.
Davros was the oldest of his band, and had the most experience in war, having been a soldier in a king’s army (not The King, mind you, some other land’s king). He had risen to the rank of captain by the time the war ended in favor of the other country. Davros fled, rightly assuming problems would come to his country after their defeat. He had disposed of most of his connections to the old country, keeping only his sword, which was like most other swords. He figured no one would recognize its foreign origins. Thankfully, many countries spoke a common tongue and he did not have trouble communicating in his travels.
Their mission was to clear out the bandits that had been terrifying travelers. The magistrate office assured them it would be an easy enough task and offered one hundred silver pieces per pair of ears brought back. The bounty had been standard, it was unlikely no one knew just how large the gang was. Had they known, Davros would have asked for double.
Davros figured they could get the drop on the bandits in their sleep, but even if they each killed five men a piece, they would still be outnumbered five to one. And he didn’t think the twins would be nearly quick enough with their bombs to be of much help once the surprise factor wore off. They had been working with Grigor on learning to use their own bowguns. They were smaller and had a shorter range, but at least they might kill a man each before he could run them through with a sword. And Zand’s magic was helpful, but still had not perfected his invisibility spell yet. Half the time it worked wonderfully. The other half the time, well, it tended to stop working at always the wrong time. If only he had known ahead of time how big this force was, he could have maybe hired on another merc or two.
“We’re outnumbered ten to one. This can be done, but we’re going to need to be smart. Grigor, I want you to continue to watch them. Find their base and then report back. Tink, Clink. how many bombs can you make with your current supplies? Figure it out and let me know in five. Zand,” Davros sighed, “how’s the invisibility spell coming? Can I do something to help you master it?”
Grigor nodded and left to observe. The twins pullid out supplies and started making calculations. Zand just shook his head at his commander.
“It doesn’t work like that. I know it’s hard to understand, so I’ll try to explain it again. There are mages, like in the story books, that learn their magic by studying - usually under a master. They read, practice, read some more, maybe make some potions to temporarily amplify their magical aptitude while they study.
“I’m a sorcerer. There’s no school. There’s no studying. I simply have magic in me. When you were a boy, you were smooth faced. Then you grew old enough and hair started coming out of your cheeks and your voice deepened. My magic is sort of like that. When I was three, I sneezed and caught my blanket on fire. Thankfully my crying caused a strong gust of wind that blew it out. When I was eight, I woke up to find myself floating above my bed. It took over an hour for it to stop, and then I fell straight down. Sure, these days I can just make a flame,” Zand raised his left hand palm up and a small ball of fire appeared, then shook his hand to make it disappear. “And I’ve learned to control the floating,” Zand levitated a foot in the air, drifted over a couple of feet and landed,” though I can still only raise a couple of feet right now. But the invisibility is something that has only happened in the last few months. I’m still not sure how to reliably turn invisible or how to keep it going once I start. It’s just something I have to get a feel for. Even if I were to somehow find another sorcerer who would agree to help,” Zand laughed at this idea as sorcerers tended to keep the nature of their magical talents hidden from all but their most trusted allies and their soon to be dead enemies, ”his methods would not necessarily work for me.” Zand’s face contorted as he struggled to vanish. After a minute, he was gone, but returned to view a few feet away. “Damn it, that wasn’t even close to my record.”
Davros nodded, found a rock to sit on, and did so. He pulled a piece of dried goat meat from a pouch on his waist. Goats were easy enough to raise, making them the cheapest meat around. Barring hunting, of course, but unless one was a good shot, the wasted arrows might even be too pricey to bother. Grigor was a good enough shot, but taking the time to properly dress the animal was a luxury they could not afford. So goat it was.
Zand decided a meal was in order as well. Rummaging through his packs he found a black loaf of hard bread and a small, wrapped piece of goat cheese. He took alternating bites of each until they were gone. He felt for his flask of mead and took a swig, looked at Davros, then took a second, shorter drink before capping it. He hoped the mead would relax him a little and maybe that would help with learning the spell.
Zand muttered to himself while going over his knowledge of how he cast his other spells. With the fireball, it was the motion while picturing his hand catching fire that worked the most consistently. He tried imagining the fire appearing at other times to varying results. Floating required taking a deep breath in just the right manner while imagining himself growing lighter. It also tended to work best when he was standing, and he had yet to learn to do it while jumping or falling.
He wished that magic words worked for him. Zand had taken one year of courses at the mages’ academy and learned a handful of minor magic words. Lunarus created a soft glow of light. Well, for mages it did. Nothing ever happened when he said it. Not even in the darkest room. He thought maybe the light was just very faint, but no. There was also aquus that produced a small amount of water, usually just enough to rinse down a piece of bread. Also worthless in his mouth. There was talk of more powerful spells to be learned, but tests would have to be passed and actually casting the spells was fully three quarters of the score. The remaining portion was for controlling the intensity and whatever other marks the professors felt appropriate.
“Maybe if I… crouch small and… picture myself fading away?” Zand crouched low and intently focused on disappearing. After a minute, a light breeze kicked up. Whether this was related to his practice, he could not know. He had not decided to pursue creating wind as it seemed less useful in the adventuring world, but it could have been some latent magic. Or maybe just the wind. Wind existed independently of magic, too.
He then tried to picture himself vanishing in the blink of an eye. Nothing. He tried actually blinking his eyes. Still nothing. OK, how had he acted when he vanished in front of Davros? He remembered scrunching his face, but wasn’t sure of his thoughts. He scrunched his face, just to be sure. No, that doesn’t do anything on its own. He held his breath and thought of the moon. Nope. Defeated, he lay down under a tree to take a nap.
Davros had been watching his young companion and shook his head when nothing seemed to happen. Magic. It seemed so amazing in the tales he grew up hearing. Roffuss of the Crimson Robe always had the right spell for the occasion. Being surrounded by a hundred soldiers? Summon a cloud of fog and disappear into the ground while he couldn’t be seen and wait for them to leave. The king was poisoned at dinner? Cast a spell to reverse his blood flow and make the poison come back out of his mouth. Trapped in irons underground? Make them quick rust and then open a fissure in the earth to the surface. But it seemed Zand was a glorified torch lighter and occasional thrower of fireballs.
Davros looked toward the twins. They were still making calculations. He decided to give them another five minutes. It’s not like they were holding up the mission. It would probably be a few hours before Grigor came back with the location of the bandits stronghold. Hopefully not a real stronghold, that would be bad. Camp. Hopefully he would find their poorly defended camp, made of flammable hay. He finished the last of his goat jerky and got up to stretch his legs.
Tink and Clink had finally finished their calculations. Between the two of them, they had five bombs made and could create another eleven, if the eleventh one was kind of small. Clink turned to let Davros know but found him missing.
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I hope you're enjoying this story. I also have a zombie e-book on Amazon that I'm rather proud of.
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