The Chronicles of a Scalebound Sage

[43] Swords Master

Bjorn set Tanisha down on the tailgate of the chaotic mess that was the goblin’s wagon. Neither of them had seen the inside of the vehicle, unlike the other wagons. The frame was a wooden box and was by far the largest wagon in the convoy. The inside looked to be divided into two floors, each packed to bursting with random products Owen and Helina sold. 

Helina  saw how large Bjorn had gotten and that Tanisha was covered in blood, and nearly fainted. “Wh-what, Bjorn?” Helina stuttered, mouth agape.

“Hunny, we’re dropping off Tanisha,” Owen said as he jumped up on the tailgate. “One of the gnolls is dead. Our boy here made sure of that, but we don’t know how many there are.”

Bjorn turned and lifted the limp Tanisha by her belt with his right mouth. The girl had no energy left to object or even sit up on her own.

Helina grabbed her, helping to rest her down comfortably. “Oh Trues above is she okay? Is that blood?” 

“Don’t worry about it too much dear, she just used too much of her maya or something,” Owen said. “And the blood isn’t hers.”

“I am okay,” Tanisha said airily. “Just a little tired is all.”

Helina looked at Bjorn. He was covered in blood and fur. 

“Are you two going, then?” Helina asked as she grabbed her husband's hand. “We could just… I mean gnoll are…” She looked conflicted. “We aren’t warriors…”

Owen and Helina got closer, their tails intertwining. Bjorn tapped out of the conversation and looked at Tanisha. She was barely conscious by that point, but she looked at him with a warm smile.

“Bjorn, I forgot to tell you. I am a mage now,” Tanisha said. “Well, something like a mage. After this I will tell you about everything… you… missed.” She passed out.

“Failsafe, can you still see her core?” Bjorn asked but he already knew the answer. 

“She does seem to have more of her core stabilized, so yeah, she’s probably a mage by this point,” Failsafe responded.

“Is that because her core is still copying mine?” Bjorn asked.

“Well that would be part of it, the familiar bond jump started something. Your magic core, the maya and the fact that she is now a cultivator…” Failsafe ruminated on everything. “She’s a total anomaly, her power is hers and it is as odd as you are. A greater human reincarnated into whatever we are and a wendigo with one of the oddest conglomeration of powers ever.”

The taste of blood in the air snapped Bjorn’s attention back to the situation at hand. He had one of his heads on constant lookout, but now it was time to put the rest of the gnolls down. He turned to face the other camp; the flickering of powers and clashing of swords echoed in the night.

“Poison Cloud, how does it know who is my ally?” Bjorn asked.

“I think I know what you are planning, and yes it will work,” Failsafe assured him. “Remember that you’re an animal so magic is pretty simple for you. The effect of your magic will follow your intentions. You can give me control of the head if you don’t trust yourself.”

“No. I set the target on this one,” Bjorn said. “No offense but I just had my body possessed by otherworldly magic. Not too keen on giving up any autonomy just yet.”

“I am very offended by that. You can’t go around punishing all magic constructs due to the actions of a few bad invasive interdimensional magics,” Failsafe said.

There were only a few casualties. The majority of refugees had gathered in a defensible position at the center of their camp. Overturned carts and wagons created makeshift barriers, each of them reinforced with magic runes of sturdiness. It was a plan Hrolf and the village leaders had prepared in case they were attacked in the middle of the night by druids. 

Hrolf was happy the plan worked to save as many as it did, but the losses were felt as three gnolls bore down on the defenders. An archer somewhere off in the forest prevented them from closing in on the other two, a mace wielder and a swordswoman. The two melee fighters were skilled but not a match for Hrolf alone; the archer was the main problem. They managed to cover every weakness of their fellow gnolls with incredible accuracy.

Hrolf was engaged with the swordswoman while the others covered the mace wielder. Hrolf moved like a ghost in a veil of frosty mist, every step calculated, every parry and dodge smooth and balanced. The fight would have been over long ago if not for the damn archer. With every opening he saw there was an arrow waiting to catch him off guard that he would have to dodge or deflect.

In a war of attrition he would win; as a wendigo he was built for drawn-out battles. However the other defenders were not as skilled; two had already fallen to feints followed by a well-placed arrow. There was no pulling back though, they were the last line of defense before the gnoll made it to the women, children and elderly. 

Between a parry and a swift Flash Step to the side of the gnoll, he had to dodge an arrow then dodge the follow-up swing of the gnoll warrior’s sword. He did this same song and dance three more times before Tyr rushed in and deflected an arrow for him. Hrolf had a single heartbeat to recognize that meant there was no arrow coming for him and he could strike back.

“Go Dad, I got you!” Tyr screamed as he expertly knocked two more arrows out of the sky.

Hrolf didn’t have to be told; he was already swinging his weapon. The temperature dropped rapidly as his blade flashed through the air. A trail of sizzling frozen oxygen followed behind the blade. Ice mixed with blood rapidly formed from the massive cut across the gnoll’s torso from hip to shoulder. The gnoll howled in pain as she attempted to use Flash Step to disengage, only to trip and fall backwards.

Another five arrows were deflected by Tyr in rapid succession. The archer was focused on them, but Hrolf was not going to let this chance go. He charged to the downed gnoll, then heard Tyr yell in pain, his sword snapped and an arrow stuck in his chest. Hrolf used every ounce of speed he had, every skill that he could use to make himself faster, every trick and then some to save his son from an onslaught of glowing arrows empowered by chakra.

The temperature continued to fall as he sliced every arrow out of the sky. Hrolf stood between his son, who had fallen backward onto the ground, and the gnoll archer. She was visible now; the glow of her chakra gave away her position. Between each arrow there was no time to check on Tyr; she wanted him dead. 

The gnoll swordswoman ripped the ice from her body and took a health potion, closing up the wound. It wasn’t completely healed but she could move. She smiled as she looked at the now distracted Hrolf. She could reengage, but instead she turned to the makeshift defensive wall between her and the civilians. She could kill a few, get him to drop his weapon, and have more slaves to sell. 

The gnoll grabbed her sword, licking her lips as she thought of the slaughter soon to take place. She reached the first cart and started hacking away at it with her sword, each strike causing more and more villagers to scream in fear. Suddenly a sickly sweet smell arrested her movements. Something in her told her she needed to run, but she didn’t know why. She noticed a mist at her feet. 

At first the mist was thin and green, but it popped with magical discharges that quickly changed it black. In a second the cloud was thick and rolled over the camp like a typhoon. The swordswoman noticed something was wrong as soon as the healing potion ran its course and stopped undoing the damage the cloud was doing to her. Her skin blistered and eyes bled as she held her breath, beginning to run away. She couldn’t tell where she was going. The black cloud made everything look the same. 

After a few Flash Steps she was finally out. Coughing up blood and shaking uncontrollably she took out her last healing potion; her muscles barely wanted to listen to her. 

Something stepped out of the cloud. The creature had three heads and gray scales, its eyes shone in the moonlight as its mouths opened. 

Bjorn bit the gnoll warrior with each of his heads, then used his tail to drag the warrior back into the Poison Cloud. He left to find the next one, confident his venom would finish the job. The mace wielder was still in the toxic cloud; she was unable to escape while the wendigo kept her pinned down. Bjorn turned his attention to the archer. She noticed him and fired several arrows his way.  Hrolf emerged from the black cloud and deflected the arrows. 

“Would those have gotten through our scales?” Bjorn asked Failsafe.

“I would prefer we didn’t find out, yeah?” Failsafe responded aptly.

Bjorn ran behind Hrolf, who was singularly focused on the archer. The air grew so cold around him that plants started to freeze as he passed by. Bjorn had to stop moving closer as the temperature was hurting him. The father screamed as he swung his weapon, deflecting one last arrow, and stabbed the archer in the chest. Ice erupted from the stab wound, and in seconds she was frozen solid.