The Missing Dragon Ch. 05

He remembered the ring then, and lifted his bloody hand to look at it closer. None of the mess from the orcs he'd disembowelled with his bare fists seemed to have clung to it. It still rested on his finger, shining brightly.

"I think you should probably take that off, Greg. This kind of mojo cannot be good for you."

"It doesn't hurt," he observed.

"Yeah, well it doesn't hurt to be me right now either, but that sure as hell doesn't mean I'm in the best of health."

"I'll miss you too much. If you're gone."

Janette's bottom lip quivered upon hearing that, and then her head lowered for a few moments whilst they just remained there. Finally, she looked at him properly again, and seemed to have reached a decision.

"Ok, well if you're going all super saiyan on me, and if I've got a little more time to be with you, then I guess we should go help our friends go kick some ass." She balled her hands into fists and raised one in front of her in a rallying call.

Something inside him changed. The quiet serenity that had descended over him when he had placed the ring on his finger shifted, and then ignited into a hot lust for battle. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt in the proving pits. There was no fear, no frustration or pain. Instead, there was a simple and pure focus on the thrill of combat. In the past, he had spoken with Algra about how orcs used their inner rage in a fight. She had told him that channelling that emotion in its purest form was a gift granted to only their greatest warriors. He now amended that for her to mean their greatest warriors and barely blooded pups wearing a certain magic ring.

If he was going into battle he would need armour. That was what he had ventured there for, and he spared a glance to where his simple proving armour had been dumped from its rack onto the ground. Frowning, he cast his gaze about for a more suitable alternative until he finally came to look upon the fallen and still-smouldering form of Rolk. The orc had plenty of workable metal covering his enormous frame. It wasn't the best material for what he required, but it would suffice. Calling the minerals from the ground would take too much time.

Lifting his hand, he called the metal to him and it immediately liquidised around its previous owner's body. It didn't melt, for Rolk's corpse was left largely undamaged. It simply changed its nature at the ring-wielder's command, and then followed his summons.

The black, metallic liquid weaved through the air toward him before splashing against his chest and pouring out over his largely-bare body. Greaves shaped around his legs, gauntlets formed over his hands and lower arms, pauldrons took shape on his shoulders. The black metal moulded itself in smooth waves across his body, and then took on hard serrated edges along the line of his shins and the edges of his forearms. A helm settled over his head, with a lowered visor and a removable piece that covered his mouth and jaw. Atop the helm, two bat-like wings unfurled and folded back against the sides of his head to keep the armour streamlined. Upon his chest, the liquid shifted until a small, black dragon emerged from within. It released a victorious screech before settling back across the newly-formed chest-plate and stretching out its wings to become the armour's central emblem.

As a final touch, Gregory shifted his attention to a pouch carried by one of the fallen orcs. Again, he lifted his hand, and the pouch flew through the air for him to easily catch it. The cloth disintegrated into nothing, and a number of golden coins spilled from within. They too began to liquidize and hang in the air, along with a number of gemstones. A couple of emeralds and several small sapphires fell to the ground without holding his interest. Only a single gleaming ruby was left resting in the palm of his hand.

The liquid gold swirled around him, passing over the palm of his hand and beginning to glow with the same luminous power that radiated from the ring. Then, it shifted into a fine thread that darted for the emblem of the dragon upon his chest. It poured into the metal creature's empty eye, filling some abscess within the armour until the last of it disappeared and the eye socket was lined in gold. The ruby then lifted into the air before his eyes, and an unseen force neatly cleaved at its surface until it was able to fit within that socket. The last piece was placed when the ruby was set into the dragon's eye, and began to glow with a red light that resembled the hot coals of a blazing forge.

Content with his work, he nodded toward Janette and turned to move to the defence of the great hall.

"You look like Batman."

"I do not..." he trailed off, remembering the image of the caped figure with the flying mammal emblazoned on his chest. There was a resemblance.

Janette laughed as he stared at himself in stunned silence for a moment, puzzling out how he'd made himself look like the caped crusader.

"Come on, Greg! The people of Gotham need our help!" With a teasing little laugh, she floated forth toward the camp.

He considered himself for a moment. The slightest of smiles touched the corners of his mouth when he stared at her ethereal form disappearing into the darkness of the jungle. The power of the ring surged, and he ran into battle at blinding speed.

- - - - -

Ulla had being preparing herself for war since before she could walk properly. As far as she was concerned, she was capable of fighting as if it were a damned art form. Few proven orcs could match her in single combat, and she was destined to be one of the greatest warriors of her people. The true family of Rowun Strongblood.

Except war had come when she had not expected it. The Great Hall was the safest place she knew of, and to hear the screams outside as her people were cut down sent a chill down her spine she had never felt before.

It had been Ulf who had known what to do. Upon hearing the war cry sound outside the hall, he too had been stunned for a moment before taking charge. They were all drunk, but not incapable. Ulf had the good sense to smash a chair and take up two of its legs to fight with. The rest of The Dragons took the hint and began tearing up the furniture into semblances of their usual weapons. Frun grabbed a torch stand from one of the walls and broke off the base for an imitation of his halberd. Wrut smashed a table and lifted out a semblance of a shield. Frelki found a broom and with a minor snap she had herself her bo-staff. Nullik drunkenly found two sticks suitable enough for using as his weapons of choice.

Ulla didn't have to search for her own weapons. The wrist bracers that Gregory and Torren had given her were seldom removed, as they left her hands free when the knuckle protectors were retracted. Given the situation, a simple flick of her hands were all that were necessary to get her weapons to click into place and make her fists into lethal implements.

Other packs had done the same thing, arming themselves with whatever they could before making for the heavy iron doors of the hall. Grolfir led the charge, and the relatively narrow opening made it difficult to properly charge the way they were taught.

The Dragons wouldn't need a charge to be effective. Ulla knew that. So she ran with her pack mates to wait until they could run out to face whatever enemy waited for them together. She used that brief time to set her thoughts in order. Battle awaited. It was what they had trained for. Here in their homeland the spirit of Dal Gahlla would surely be with them. Victory was certain.

That line of thinking renewed her confidence, and the anger came soon after. Who dared to attack them at the heart of Embervine? They would die. They would die soon.

A gap opened up through the doorway and Ulf roared a battle cry for The Dragons to advance. Ulla followed beside him and ran out into the open square only to find that confidence and rage crushed by the overwhelming terror of what they faced.

The enemy. The defiled ones. Black Orcs. Hundreds of them. Heavily armed and still pouring into the square by the dozen. The sight of the odds actually slowed her pace, and that was what brought her back to her senses.

The battle rage might have been stumped, as was her certainty of victory, but slowing in a charge? That was a sign of cowardice, and that was something Ulla could not abide. So, she redoubled her pace to catch up with Ulf who had not slowed at all in his effort to re-enforce his father's war pack. The dragons fell in beside Grolfir's own men with grim determination. Many green orcs had already fallen, but they were now making up the numbers well enough to start to be able to hold some ground.

A hideously deformed orc lashed out at Ulla from a direction she had not anticipated. She felt the sting of his blade on her upper arm before turning and punching the creature's ugly features hard enough that she heard a loud crunch. Two more took its place soon thereafter, and Frelki just stepped in before they could get the better of her.

It was becoming clear that whatever ground the orcs could hold was going to be for a last stand. The enemy numbers were too great. Where was the rest of the encampment? Had they been killed already?

One of Grolfir's war pack fell with a roar of agony that soon fell silent. It revealed the war-chief himself fighting for his own life. Ulla saw him turn to look over at his son, and though he gave no sign of weakness to those around him, she knew it was a look of pride and sorrow. Even he didn't think they were going to win the battle.

Then something happened no one on the battlefield had anticipated. Another war cry rang out from behind the enemy line. A cluster of burning tents split the enemy line down two avenues toward the square, and from within the flames emerged another figure.

Clad in true orc metal armour, bearing the familiar symbol of Rowun's old pack upon her chest-plate, Algra Strongblood had entered the fray. Clad in orc armour, the flames had not harmed her, and she rapidly began her own charge into the thinned line of black orcs. That charge connected with all the force of a battering ram, tearing through the enemy whilst wielding two lethal looking blades.

It took Ulla by surprise. She had sparred with Algra. She had thought she knew the female's style. It turned out she couldn't have been more wrong. Algra had evidently been holding back quite a bit in training. In her own armour, and with her own weapons, Ulla was immediately reminded of a story Gregory had mentioned when he spoke of the wars on his own world.

Algra wasn't a soldier. She was a damned tank.

The surprise of seeing the legendary orc make her impact felt so forcefully soon rallied the orc battle line. It also distracted Ulla enough that she entirely missed the enemy sword being thrust toward her gut. Thankfully, Algra did not. She had seen the enemy making his charge and matched the timing with her own. Her devastating approach was revealed to be entirely focused upon getting there first, which she did. So instead of receiving a blade in the gut, Ulla was treated to the sight of Algra masterfully deflecting the blow with one of her blades whilst casually lopping off the enemy's head in the same instant.

"Pay attention!" She warned to everyone whilst casting Ulf one of her swords to replace his own chair leg. "Formation?"

The question was more of a demand. In all the excitement, Ulf had forgotten Gregory's lessons about their tactics. He frowned at himself for a moment whilst he considered the matter. They needed to regain ground. Then he roared out the order.

"Ram!"

Instantly, Ulla recalled the endless drilling in the training field and the Dragons re-formed themselves into a narrow V-shape pointed toward the enemy. At Ulf's next roar, they charged. As they did, they pushed back the enemy line for the first time. Still, even with Algra with them the situation was rapidly becoming hopeless.

That was when Ulla felt a pressure pushing down on her shoulder before it released and Talina leapt out over the enemy. The First only knew how the hell she'd managed to get behind them through the blocked off pathways. Ulla watched in horror as the slender dancing girl sprang directly into the heart of the enemy horde. She hadn't talked much with Talina, but a battle such as this was certainly no place for a courtesan.

That was when two long, metal knives extended from their own bracers attached to Talina's wrists. The girl twisted sharply in the air and the blades lashed out harshly, bound to her by two long, thin chains. As those lethal implements spun through the air it became immediately clear that Talina was no mere courtesan.

In fact, the dance she began soon thereafter made Algra look downright passive.

- - - - -

Despite Gregory breaking the sound barrier fast enough to create a small crater in the jungle, it seemed that Janette's ghost was able to keep up with him. The ring's effect of slowing down time didn't seem to apply to her, and she continued to float beside him as he sprinted tirelessly toward the great hall.

"Holy crapshoot, Batman!" Janette yelled as they rounded the path to come into view of the doors to the great hall.

Before those doors there was a wide-open space that was the closest thing the orcs had to a town square. It was currently filled with a group of green bodies surrounded by the malformed and blackened orcs who had invaded his new home. There must have been hundreds of them. Not quite an army, but certainly a dangerous force to be reckoned with.

All of them appeared to move in slow motion. It gave him a few moments to collect himself and take stock of the situation. Finding The Dragons didn't take him long, though even in his dream-like state he was surprised to find Algra fighting in full armour and wielding a blade in each hand. One was curved backwards like a broad katana, and the other shifted into a forward point to thicken at the tip. That one almost looked like a can-opener.

Behind her, the Dragons were offering assistance as best they could; though they were not nearly as well armed. Some had acquired the foul weapons of fallen enemies, but most were wielding remnants of broken furniture from the great hall. Another force of orcs in lighter armour with actual weapons in their hands had moved in to offer assistance, and were led by Borika. They had clearly had no time to don their heavier and more effective armour, and were struggling to offer relief from the narrow avenue on which they found themselves fighting.

At the centre of the melee, Grolfir and his own war pack were rudely shoving back the horde, and doing their best to offer relief to the newer packs who had just celebrated their proving.

Many dead green bodies already littered the open space, and the battle did not look to be going well save for a single silver light gleaming on the edges of the orcs' last stand. Even with his mind processing the events so quickly as to slow down the battle before him, Talina was moving fast enough to be dangerous. No armour adorned her body with the exception of her simple courtesan's attire. Instead, her entire defence and offence relied upon the use of two short-blades that she had shackled to her wrists with long, thin chains. He had seen her dance before, many times. She had always been outshone by Fiona, but he'd always gotten the impression that she wasn't making nearly as much of an effort as her feline friend.

As it turned out, when she did apply herself she moved with such velocity and lethal grace that she made Fiona look like an amateur. Her preferred dance seemed to be one of death in which she decorated the air around her in ribbons of blood. The blades frequently flew from her hands, bound by the chains to her wrists to spread out in wide arcs. Frelki and Nullik actually looked slow beside her. All around her constantly spinning form, her enemies fell at her feet. She danced through the bodies with vicious precision, and no enemy was spared in the wake of her blood dance.

Even so, she could not hold back the tide by herself. Soon her flashing blades would be overrun, and she too would fall.

Gregory decided that simply would not do, and fell to one knee to place his ringed hand on the dirt road beneath him.

"Shouldn't we... y'know... charge?" Janette asked him.

"Soon."

Cracks began to span out in the hardened dirt, and the small stones that littered the surface trembled. A shockwave of energy blasted forward, shattering the earth and surging toward the rear of the enemy swarm. It affected about a third of them, and few managed to keep their feet when the ground beneath them violently quaked. The miniature earthquake halted when it reached the defenders, and the moment it passed they charged forward. It caused an immediate gap to open in the enemy ranks that the southern orcs tore into. Even the black orcs who weren't directly affected by the shockwave seemed momentarily stunned by the turn of events.

Gregory then raised himself to his feet and took Janette's advice. Charging forward took him from his position to the thickest section of the enemy circle in an instant, and he soon began wreaking as much carnage as possible. He had fashioned his new gauntlets with fingertips that ended in extendable claws, and they tore through armour and orc-flesh alike.

With the assistance of Gregory and the ring, the remaining southern orc forces rallied. He cleaved through the enemy orcs blocking Borika's advance to give his friends some much-needed reinforcements. With the two forces joined and no longer completely surrounded, the southern orcs began to show why they were so feared in battle. Fighting reached a crescendo, before the enemy finally shattered. Each one fought until the last breath rather than fleeing, for they had put themselves in a position where there was nowhere to run. Gregory and his allies fought until every last one of them had fallen.

"Secure the wall! Form up the war-packs!" Grolfir bellowed above the cheers of victory. "By the First, where is everyone?"

"Warchief!" Borika ran up to the great orc and offered him a warrior's salute. "The entire camp has been placed under some kind of sleeping enchantment! I managed to rouse some, but there was no time to go from tent to tent and break the spell."

Gregory listened from where he was standing. It was nowhere near close to normal hearing distance, and there was plenty of background noise as the orcs shifted to follow their chief's orders. It didn't matter. Gregory wished to hear what was being said, and so it happened. Borika's words momentarily confused him. There were no enchantments running throughout the camp. He could feel the flow of magic through him and sensed no traces of any attempts to lull him to sleep.

It was a strange sense to navigate. Too much information to process properly. Closing his eyes, he focused upon it and pushed his awareness outward to the nearest sleeping orc. At first he could sense no magical outside influence keeping the creature slumbering. It wasn't until he pushed his senses beneath the orc's skin that he discovered the cause of the unnatural sleep. The enchantment resonated out of the digestive system, and ran in the water the orc had been consuming. By the extent of the contamination to the system, the water must have been magically influenced for a number of days.

It was an ingenious implementation of the spell, completely bypassing the bodies natural magical resistances until the caster could activate it. Actually influencing the mind of a sentient creature with magic was no easy feat, and would have taken a great source of power. This was designed to work more subtly, and flow with the natural workings of the mind when it was at its weakest. It would rely on the victim already being asleep, and merely tricked the body into maintaining a depth of unconsciousness that came naturally at certain hours of the night. That explained why it had likely not worked on every orc in the camp, as not all of them would have retired at the same hour.