Ogre Tyrant

Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 39 – Command and Conquer – Part One

Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 39 - Command and Conquer - Part One

With the tower now officially under our control, the wild undead were forced away from the outer trenches allowing the soldiers to begin erecting further defences in relative peace. Even the Thralls and Vampyrs seemed to have called off their attempts at retaking the tower.

Already recovered and growing increasingly restless, I wondered if whoever was tasked with maintaining the sovereignty of the fortified foothold would be the same person that had been responsible for the tower. It had been a long time since I had last faced such a profoundly brutal backlash in a battle of wills.

Instead of feeling hesitant, the memory of the pain only made me more eager to assault the fortified foothold. If they were that resistant, then they had to be important to the Liche, and if they were important to the Liche, then I wanted them destroyed. Unfortunately, there was every possibility that the target in question was located in the distant fortress guarding the portal to the second floor.

Some of the Asrusian flags and banners surrounding the tower had been replaced with flags bearing the evil toothy grin of Sanctuary. It was in direct response to my most recently acquired Class Ability and the Colonel wanted to make the most of it.

[(Class Ability: Noble Heraldry {Rank 0}): The men and women who tirelessly serve your noble house are inspired and filled with pride by the knowledge that their meagre contributions support your greatness. Subordinates receive the {Endurance} Ability while within line of sight of your {House Sigil}. {Presence} extends the duration of {Endurance} after breaking the line of sight. The rank of {Endurance} is equal to the Rank of Noble Heraldry.]

According to the Colonel, Endurance was a high-level Class Ability shared by the Scout and Ranger Classes that delayed the onset of fatigue and exhaustion. This was why the Colonel was posting the flags in such a way that the rank and file soldiers could easily keep at least one flag within their line of sight at any given moment.

Looking back towards the distant fortress, I wondered if it would be any harder to capture than the tower had been. It would almost certainly have many more defenders and siege engines, but with Shadow Step eliminating the need to breach the walls, the static defences wouldn’t count for much.

The lack of Synergies present in the enemy’s forces thus far was their most prominent flaw, and it made no logical sense that it existed in the first place. The only remotely justifiable reason I could think of to not have at least a few other monstrous species as part of their army was that they were hoarding them all on another floor or saving them for a more critical engagement. That or the Liche had a problem with other monsters.

Hearing a commotion coming from the tower, I didn’t have to wait long to find out the cause.

A solitary green flare arced up into the sky far to the south and was almost immediately followed by a dozen black death notifications. All the soldiers' deaths were attributed to Bloodbound Thralls, an evolution of their species I had yet to encounter in person. A few moments later, scattered death notifications began appearing as what was most likely the remainder of the soldiers in the squad were finished off. However, unlike the initial surge of deaths, two of the most recent deaths were inflicted by a new monster, a Blighted Drake.

Unable to shake the disgusting images of diseased ducks from my mind, the sight of a determined Lieutenant rushing from the tower and down towards the trenches proved to be a worthy distraction. Leaving the wall, and with my entourage trailing behind me, I followed the Lieutenant to find out what she had been ordered to do.

“Majesty!” A grizzled Sergeant snapped a salute, informing the Lieutenant of my arrival.

“Majesty!” The Lieutenant didn’t skip a beat, pivoting and saluting as if she had known I was standing there the whole time.

“What are your orders,” I asked curiously, “And what is a Blighted Drake?”

“I am mustering a relief strike team to assist with escorting the remaining platoon of reinforcements still traversing the lowlands,” the Lieutenant replied while motioning for the Sergeant to continue gathering soldiers and supplies, “As for the Blighted Drake? We are not exactly certain, but we believe it is an Environmental Evolution of the Drake, which is a large reptilian ambush predator.”

“That makes sense,” I muttered, replacing the image of a diseased duck with a zombified Trex. “How strong are they?”

The Lieutenant paused for a moment, “We aren’t sure, Majesty. If it is just an Environmental Evolution, then the Blighted Drake is most likely Tier eight or nine...”

“Tier eight?” I looked at the soldiers falling into formation and frowned, “What if there is more than one? Can you still defeat them?”

The Lieutenant nodded, her expression hidden beneath her helmet, “We can defeat them,” she replied confidently.

The Pride of Asrus were meant to be the elite, so I couldn’t dismiss her confidence out of hand, but the sudden arrival of the Blighted Drake was a definite sign of escalation. There was another issue as well. They would almost certainly be leaving the Synergy range of my Racial Abilities, which would weaken them quite considerably.

Leaving the soldiers to their work, I returned to the tower wall to brood. As uneasy as I felt, joining the relief team would cause the same problem for the tower. Stalled by indecision, I began contemplating an assault on the fortified former foothold. Once it was captured, reinforcements, specifically the auxiliaries, would then be free to begin supplementing the existing forces without running a gauntlet of enemy forces and the wild wandering undead.

The Lieutenant left with close to forty men. A blend of Spearman, Swordsman, and Archers, as well as a few Scouts.

Unsure how exactly the relief force was going to locate the reinforcements, I decided that I would add it to the list of questions I would ask the Colonel when we next spoke.

“Majesty?” One of the Colonel’s aides, an older man of about sixty, stood at attention a short distance away and was waiting for approval to approach.

I raised my hand slightly and returned to watching the distant fortress.

“Majesty,” the elderly aide moved closer but maintained a respectful distance, “Colonel Maxwell would like to enquire after your opinion in joining a probing assault on the central fortress in approximately eight and a half hours time.”

“I’ll do it,” I agreed, “But why wait so long?”

“Apologies, Majesty. I am not at liberty to say,” the aide politely apologises, “If your Majesty wishes, I can request Colonel Maxwell inform you in person?” He offered helpfully.

“No, it’s fine,” I replied, already losing my interest as the bleak landscape continued feeding my apathy.

“Majesty,” the Colonel’s aide bowed and then reentered the tower.

An hour or so passed and the sky began to grow darker. Having slept through the previous night, I was somewhat intrigued by the scarcity of stars in the sky. Combined with the heavy cloud cover, only a handful of stars were visible with each passing moment.

It made it that much more obvious when the amber coloured flares began arcing into the sky.

Less than a minute after the first flare appeared, Asrusian soldiers began running out of the fog and headed straight for the trenches. Those in front stopped running after clearing fifty or so feet, holding their positions as more soldiers began stumbling out of the fog, many of them leaning on another for support.

With imminent violence at hand, I was already halfway through gathering the necessary mana before I realised I was about to Shadow Step.

Suddenly appearing in the midst of the soldiers preparing to hold their ground, I felt a momentary wave of dizziness from depleting so much mana all at once.

“Majesty....” One of the soldiers barked hoarsely.

“His Majesty!” Another soldier repeated, louder than the first.

“FORM UP! CEASE RETREAT!” A Sergeant hollered while holding a bloodied hand over a bolt lodged in his shoulder.

“SHIELD THE WOUNDED!” Another Sergeant roared, shoving one of the less wounded soldiers towards the screening line that was forming in response to the first Sergeant’s orders.

As soldiers continued streaming past, I almost missed the Lieutenant who was being carried over the shoulder of one of the large soldiers. Her helmet was missing, revealing short blonde hair and dried blood crusting over half her face.

Drawing both maces from my belt, I took a few swings to try and limber myself up before I would need to begin moving in earnest.

*Broot! Broot!*

The horn calls came from the fog and I could see dark shapes moving in the distance.

Looking back at the gathered Asrusian soldiers, it took a few moments but I realised that some of them were missing. The Rangers and Scouts were still unaccounted for.

“AAAAA-” A wounded cry was immediately cut short as one of the dark shapes suddenly came to a halt.

[(Minion: Kirin Honeyfield) has been slain by (Blighted Drake)]

Charging into the fog, I only made it slightly more than a dozen steps before a familiar feeling entered the periphery of my mind. Abruptly coming to a halt, I ignored the shouts from the soldiers behind me and instead focused on the large dark shapes now barrelling through the fog in my direction.

Recognising three high tiered Enslaved monsters entering the range of my Ability, I wasn’t sure if I would have enough mana to challenge them all. Deciding to play it safe, I concentrated my attention on the most powerful and would try for another if I had enough mana afterwards.

Expecting the pain, I let it pass through me like water, refusing to allow it purchase. Initiating the connection cost me a third of my total mana, making it clear that I would not be getting another chance.

*Thump Thump Thump Thump*

The Blighted Drakes footfalls were somewhat dampened by the boggy terrain, but their sheer weight caused them to remain relatively audible now that they were at a full sprint.

*Twing, Twang, Thwip Ching*

Bolts began pelting against my armour and disappearing into the fog, but it was clear that the Thralls were struggling to line up their shots with as many whistling past as those striking my armour.

With the distance between us disappearing fast, it was only now that I had no chance of retreating that I began to wonder if fighting meat-eating dinosaurs while half-blind was a good idea. The sheer absurdity of the situation prevented the worst of it from really taking hold, but I felt a considerable degree of anger towards myself for being so profoundly stupid.

Even so, I had only moments to react when the bipedal reptile suddenly loomed into view. Roughly two thirds its height, it was a strange experience to be striking upwards against a taller opponent.

*Thump, Clack*

My mace managed to knock its jaws aside and gave me enough time to move out of the Blighted Drake’s path. However, it didn’t stop the giant reptile from taking a swipe at me with the three large claws on its forearm or another swipe with its thick tail.

I could hear it circling around for another pass, and took a scattered hail of bolts to the back, confirming that there were riders mounted on its back. Unfortunately, I couldn’t spare time to see what was happening. The second Blighted Drake was closing in and preparing to attack just as the first had done.

Deciding that I couldn’t take on two of them at once, I gathered half my remaining mana into my left hand, and through it, into my second mace. Charging towards the Blighted Drake returned a semblance of initiative and allowed me to strafe past its waiting jaws.

*CRACK*

The Blighted Drake cried out in pain and rage as my mace collided with its left shin, causing the bone to buckle and break beneath the beast's weight, driving it to the ground. Five Thralls were thrown from the strange saddle mounted on its back, although their landings were somewhat cushioned by the bog.

Even collapsed on its side, the Blighted Drake posed a significant threat, so I left it alone and tried to get my bearings on the first and third Blighted Drakes instead.

The third Drake was still nowhere in sight and surprisingly the first had stalled its return.

The Thralls mounted atop the first Blighted Drakess saddle were taking arrows from the Archers waiting just beyond the fog. Despite most of the arrows missing their mark, a few had managed to land and deal some damage, including an arrow lodged in the primary rider’s neck.

The rider was hanging by the reins from off the Drake’s back and seemed to be confusing it as he continued trying to pull himself back up with minimal success.

More than happy to let the Archers continue harassing the first Drake, I turned my attention to the Thralls that had been thrown from the first.

*Crunch*

The Thrall had just managed to stagger to his feet when my mace caved in his chest and sent him flying into the fog.

The next closest Thrall was scrambling for its crossbow instead of drawing its shortsword.

*Crunch*

I crushed his back and continued towards the next Thrall.

Smarter than her companion, the Thrall had drawn her shortsword and was hurriedly backing away towards her two remaining companions. However, rather than help them, she stabbed her blade through the thigh of the less wounded of the two and then bolted off into the fog.

The pair of remaining Thralls could only watch their fleeing companion with disbelief as I closed the distance between us and prepared to execute them.

A jolt of pain in my head gave me pause, allowing one of the Thralls to scramble to their feet and run, while the other desperately hobbled after him. The owner of the third Drake was still putting up a fight and the pain was steadily beginning to escalate.

Briefly eyeing the giant collar hanging off the fallen Drake’s neck, I considered and then promptly discarded the idea of trying to take control of the Drake directly through its collar. Approaching its neck would mean moving within reach of its mouth and arms, making it an incredibly stupid idea. Then again, if the same person was controlling all three of the Drakes, and I made use of a distraction, it could somewhat justify the risk.

The Drake in question was glaring at me in such a way that it almost looked like it was daring me to move closer.

*Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump*

The vibrations and heavy breathing from the first Drake were too little warning too late.

*Bang!*

A hard blow to my back knocked me down and left me sprawling in the bog. I barely managed to get my arms and knees beneath me when a weaker blow caught me from the side and sent me tumbling again. Scrambling to move before the Drake had a chance to knock me down again.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t fast enough and was bowled over again, only this time one of the Drake’s claws managed to find its way through my armour and pierced my side. Worse still, the claw tore the wound wide as I was knocked aside.

I could feel the blood spilling down my side, soaking my tunic and running down my leg. Only vaguely able to determine the location of the wound, I could only hope that I wasn’t bleeding nearly so badly internally.

The Drake had begun pacing to my left, its nostrils flaring and jaws drooling over the scent of my blood. It was obvious that the giant reptile was waiting for me to bleed out, although I wasn’t sure why after it had managed to manhandle me thus far. Then again, waiting for its prey to bleed out was a much safer strategy than risking a potentially debilitating injury.

Unfortunately for the waiting Drake, my wound was already clotting shut and stirring a ravenous hunger that in turn was ramping up my aggression.

Even with my maces lost somewhere in the fog, the idea of charging the Drake with only my fists and teeth was beginning to hold a certain appeal. The mounting pain in my head only stoked the fire of my rising rage even further.

The Drake seemed to grow warier, baring its fangs and slowly creating more distance between us as it continued circling.

The pain in my head ratcheted up a step further, officially transitioning from a bad headache to a full-blown migraine. Suddenly charging at the Drake began to look like a very good idea. With so much meat it could fill the gaping hole I could feel in my gut.

I couldn’t think straight, I was so hungry...

[You have slain {Vampyr Scion; 4} +4000 Exp]

[You have Enslaved {Blighted Drake Patriarch}]

*Thump Thump Thump Thump*

I could vaguely make out the voices of panicked Thralls growing closer, but it was heavy footsteps that drew my attention.

The wounded Drake let out a pitiable cry and shrieked in pain as it tried to stand. Meanwhile, the Drake that was preoccupied with waiting for me to succumb to blood loss had grown nervous, engaging in a quick back and forth with the wounded Drake.

Both Drakes were interrupted as the third Drake, almost half again as large as they were, came charging out of the fog with a dozen confused and terrified Thralls clinging to its saddle.

*THUMP!*

The Blighted Drake Patriarch slammed into the first Drake and latched onto its back with its forearm claws, raking down its side and ripping through its scaly hide. The Patriarch didn’t give the smaller Drake the opportunity to recover, clamping its jaws around the back of the smaller Drake’s neck and giving it a vicious twisting jerk.

*CRUNCH*

[{Night Terror} has slain {Blighted Drake; 3} +3200 Exp]

*CRACK! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!*

The Patriarch viciously bit down on the fallen Drake’s neck again in order to secure a better grip before partially opening its jaws and biting down again and jerking its neck to saw through the fallen Drake’s throat.

Releasing the neck of the thoroughly dead Drake, the Patriarch turned towards me instead, its reptilian eyes betraying a profound intelligence and hatred that would have given me pause if not for my hunger.

*Twing*

A crossbow bolt ricocheted off my helmet, drawing my attention to the Thralls still mounted on the Patriarch’s saddle.

“Kill them,” I growled angrily and began looking for my lost maces, doing my best to try and suppress my ever-growing hunger.

The Patriarch snarled and wasted no time in following my order, bucking and shaking to and fro in an attempt to dislodge the Thralls mounted on its back.

*Crunch*

The first Thrall to fall was immediately silenced as the Patriarch stomped him deep into the bog. The next Thrall was less fortunate, losing both his legs as the Patriarch caught him in the air and shook him hard enough to shear through his thighs.

Frustrated by the hunks of iron eluding my best efforts to locate them, I ripped the pouch off my belt and shoved it in my mouth, no longer able to restrain myself. I tore through the leather-like it was jerky, swallowing the pouch, container and all.

Like a drop of water on a sunbaked sidewalk, the pouch of emergency food accomplished very little. I was already five mouthfuls through gorging on the exposed flesh of the dead Drake’s neck. Part of me was revolted by the reality of what I was doing, but a much larger and far more aggressive part of me refused to surrender control.

Gradually, the aching and formerly bottomless hunger ebbed away, leaving only a lingering dull pain in my head and a vague recollection of what I had just done.

“Majesty?” A white-faced Sergeant asked, standing a short distance beyond my reach. Realising he had my attention, the Sergeant made a visible effort to avoid flinching and barely succeeded. “Majesty, you need to be taken to safety. Undead are closing in on our position-” He stiffened as the Patriarch hissed threateningly at a trio of soldiers that had drawn too close.

Most likely having intended to put down the crippled Drake, the Blighted Patriarch appeared to be having none of it.

In direct contrast to the other Drake it had killed, the Patriarch seemed to be incredibly protective of its crippled kin, resting beside the Drake and settled on its haunches.

For its part, the crippled Drake made no signs of aggression towards the patriarch, mewling weakly and shakily attempting to shift itself onto its belly.

“Majesty-” The Sergeant repeated earnestly, but I ignored him.

“Bring over the enemy dead,” I growled hoarsely, my throat itching uncomfortably from the foul-tasting blood drying inside of it. “And find my weapons!” The fact that I had lost them irked me for reasons I initially didn’t realise until I remembered who had given them to me in the first place and what they signified.

The Patriarch reacted to my approach just as it had done with the soldiers.

“Restrain it,” I commanded, pointing to the crippled Drake’s neck.

The Patriarch bared its teeth menacingly and I felt it attempting to resist the command. Visibly shuddering, the Patriarch pressed its forearms down on the crippled Drake’s back and settled its jaws around the Drake’s neck.

The crippled Drake attempted to struggle but grew still as the Patriarch, with visible reluctance and fury, tightened its grip on the smaller Drake’s neck.

Satisfied that the Drake would be unable to move without risking breaking its neck, I warily approached the chain collar hanging at the base of its neck. Noting the twitching of its foreclaws and feeling a pang of pain in my side, I clenched my jaw and pressed forward.

Rotating the chain, I found the manastone crudely yet securely set into a chunk of solid steel. Clenching my jaw in anticipation of the pain, I pressed my thumb hard against the sealed but far from healed wound inflicted by the first Drake. With my thumb now wet with my own blood, I smeared it over the mana stone and stepped back.

[You have Enslaved {Blighted Drake}]

“Release,” I commanded, my lips curling into a snarl as I felt the Drake attempt to break free of my control.

The Patriarch removed its jaws from around the smaller Drake’s neck and settled back into its previous resting-state settling on its haunches.

“I NEED SOMETHING FOR A LEG SPLINT!” I ordered while moving around the Drake’s forelimbs and approaching its legs.

Vaguely aware of soldiers shouting in the general vicinity, I assumed they were following my orders and instead focused on the Drake’s broken leg. The Drake’s shin was poking through its hide, making it clear that its shin or reptilian equivalent was truly broken. If it was Earth, then the Drake would be put down, the wound deemed unrecoverable.

However, this was not Earth, and a number of means existed that could restore the Drake to fighting form depending on the effort. It would cause the Drake no small measure of pain, but the throbbing pain in my side was making it difficult to be empathetic. Fortunately for the Drake, that would make setting the bone that much easier as I focused on the treatment rather than catering to its pain.

A pair of soldiers had already assembled a small pile of Thrall corpses nearby, and having presumably guessed my intentions, were in the process of stripping their armour.

“Feed them to the Drake!” I ordered, “Just don’t get too close!”

The soldiers nodded to show they had heard me and took hold of a dead Thrall, one of them taking the arms, and the other taking the legs. Following my order, the soldiers swung the Thrall back and forth to build enough momentum before tossing it a few feet from the Drake’s mouth.

“Wait,” I commanded the Drake, earning a pained snarl in response as the Drake huffed and settled its head back onto the ground. I was the reason it was in pain, and despite initially feeling vindictive for the actions of its kin, that anger had already begun converting to guilt.

Removing the waterskin and the pouch containing willow bark from my belt, I stuffed all the remaining bark into the waterskin, recapped it and then wrung the bejesus out of it , ripping the seams and popping the cap in the process. “Eat,” I commanded, stuffing the waterskin into the Thrall’s belt before stepping away.

*Crunch! Crack! Crunch! Crack! Crack! Crunch!*

The Drake didn’t hesitate for even a millisecond, lunging forward and snapping up the Thrall’s corpse, flipping it around in its mouth as it crushed and severed the body into more manageable and easily digestible pieces.

I wasn’t sure how much the willow bark would help, but it quieted my conscience to the point that I was able to ignore it again. “WHERE ARE MY SPLINTS?!” I called out irritably.

“On my way Highness! Urg! Back!” A woman's voice called back somewhat distractedly, prompting me to take a few moments to pay more attention to our surroundings.

We were under attack.

Zombies, Skeletons and Crypt Stalkers were being held at bay by small teams of soldiers while other soldiers were busy searching through the bog and retrieving Thrall corpses.

One of the female soldiers was jogging in my direction, dodging past the slower moving undead while carrying a bundle of spears under one arm and a large coil of thick rope over the other. “Majesty! Huff huff. Your, splint,” she shrugged off the rope and laid down the spears.

Taking six spearshafts in one hand, I snapped the shafts to roughly the correct length. I repeated the process with the other half. Taking up the whole bundle of broken shafts, I motioned to the rope and then jerked my head towards the Drake’s hind limbs, “Come with me.”

To her credit, the soldier didn’t baulk at the command, taking up the rope and following me without complaint.

“We are not going to have much time,” I explained brusquely while setting down the spear shafts within easy reach, “I don’t have the mana for what is needed, so this needs to be done quickly. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir!” The soldier replied immediately, “I mean, yes Majesty!”

“Before I set the bone, we will need ropes tied and ready for splints to keep it set in place, so get to it,” I ordered, taking her shortsword and using it to cut the rope into the necessary lengths so she could handle the knots. “Stay still!” I commanded the Drake somewhat absently, not wanting to take the chance that it would suddenly lash out and disembowel the soldier helping provide it aid.

An angry hiss from the Drake made it clear that I had made the right choice.

The sounds of combat had intensified, joined now by the whooping shrieks of Goblins and the snarls of a large feline.

“You are forbidden to deliberately harm allies,” I commanded, almost immediately feeling pushback in my mind from the pair of Drakes.

My assistant began gingerly looping and loosely preparing ropes down the length of the Drake’s shin, taking a moment to test the cinching knot before moving on to the next.

“Slot some of the shafts into the slack,” I ordered while doing the same, “And once I set the bone, add the rest and pull the ropes tight.”

The soldier nodded and obediently set to work.

*Crunch*

The Drake bellowed in pain as I realigned and set the bone as best I could manage, pushing one side with my knees while pulling back the other with both arms, “NOW!” I ordered, struggling against the now thrashing Drake and its spasming muscles.

Again, to her credit, the soldier did as she was ordered, or as best she could, slotting in the shafts as best she could before cinching the ropes tight, “That’s all of them!” She called out, prudently stepping back but remaining close enough to assist further if needed.

Doing my best to hold the Drake’s leg still while gathering my mana, I pushed through the waves of weakness and willed my battered mind to focus.

*Tingling*

“You have need of-OH!” Wraithe squeaked in surprise, leaping backwards and baring her sharp rodent teeth.

“Heal it!” I ordered somewhat breathlessly, “I know you don’t have enough mana, just do what you can!”

Wraithe scurried forward and placed her long spindly fingers against the Drake’s scaly hide. There was a brief golden flash and then Wraithe disappeared.

The Drake stopped resisting, so I let it go. Its toes and foot were still twitching, and the Drake was breathing hard, making it clear that it was in an immense amount of pain.

“Keep an eye on the splint, let me know if the bone shows signs of slipping,” I ordered my assistant while moving to bring more food supplies for the Drake.

Far from being the soldiers' fault, they had run out of Thralls to feed the Drake and were doing their best to butcher the dead Drake for large chunks of meat.

“Bring it closer!” I ordered the patriarch, “Bring it here!” I pointed in front of the smaller Drake.

The Blighted Drake Patriarch gave me a calculating look accompanied by a fresh test against my control. Slowly rising to a standing position, the Patriarch gave me one final glare before moving towards the body of the dead Drake.

The fighting had intensified and the rough circle of screening forces were retreating and tightening that formation every few seconds. It wasn’t because the undead were particularly dangerous. It was because the badly wounded soldiers in the centre were being deliberately targeted by the more intelligent amongst the undead, or the lucky fodder that managed to slip through the cracks.

*Thump*

The Patriarch unceremoniously deposited the carcass of its dead kin as commanded and then hunkered back down onto its haunches.

The injured Drake needed time before its leg would be able to support its immense weight. With no real basis for how effective my Iron Gut Ability assisted in healing broken bones, I was far more inclined to air on the side of caution. Or at least I would have liked to. It was becoming increasingly apparent that time was becoming a difficult commodity to come by. Besides the wild undead, there was an increasing risk of the Vampyrs or Thralls joining the attack in order to take advantage of our compromised state.

Then again, there was a workable solution literally glaring me in the face. “Hunt the undead,” I commanded, “thin their numbers so they pose less of a threat,” I looked pointedly at the injured Drake before returning the Drake’s gaze.

As I expected, the Patriarch tested me again, although it wasn’t nearly to the same degree as it had done previously. Rising to its feet the Patriarch slowly made its way towards the defensive encirclement and then stepped over it. Initially seeming to disobey my command the Patriarch continued into the fog for a full forty feet before very suddenly erupting into a maelstrom of violence.

Ripping, tearing, biting, stomping and dashing apart anything that came into reach. I couldn't be sure, but it looked like it managed to blast a skeleton to pieces just by bellowing at it point blank.

“Majesty! Your weapons!” A soldier was standing close by and was struggling to support both maces by curling his arms and holding them to his chest. He seemed profoundly relieved when I retrieved them.

Giving the soldier a nod in thanks, I began walking towards the defensive line. I was low on mana, and the wound in my side was still healing, but we needed more time.

Stepping out and into danger, I felt a sudden thrill at the prospect of letting loose, retribution for the pain radiating from the wound on my left side.

Time quickly lost meaning as the shambling corpses appearing from the fog quickly came to demand almost all of my attention. Even so, the violence was dissatisfying. Incapable of feeling pain, the undead continued throwing themselves into harm's way with impunity. Similarly, with the exception of the left upper side of my abdomen, I had no fear of receiving an injury in turn.

Five times a pack of Crypt Stalkers attempted to ambush and overrun my meandering defensive position, drawn by the scent of blood. Each time, I dashed the boldest amongst them into rotting pieces, scattering their pack back into the fog.

I continued until the hunger became too strong to ignore. Clutching at my side, I staggered back to the defensive encirclement, which was barely larger than a few feet around the injured Drake’s extremities and the mutilated corpse of its fallen kin.

Ignoring the soldiers, I beelined straight for the Drake’s head and gave it a good thump to get its attention away from the spilled innards of the dead Drake.

Of course, this earned an aggravated snarl from the Drake and a blood speckled snort.

“Stand,” I commanded firmly, anticipating the challenge and immediately crushing it.

The Drake flinched, lowering its eyes submissively and snorting in pain as it began attempting to rise to its feet. Unlike the Patriarch, the Blighted Drake was attempting to distribute its weight with its forelimbs, baring its teeth or hissing in pain each time it attempted to place more weight on its damaged leg.

I decided that it would have to do. “FALL BACK TO THE TOWER!” I ordered, bellowing as loudly as I could manage in order to make sure everyone heard me and that no one would be left behind.

“You!” I pointed to the female soldier who had served as my assistant, “Take the reins and lead the Drake back to the trenches!”

The soldier nodded and hurried over to grab ahold of the dangling chain that served as the Drake’s reins.

Moving to the Drake’s side, I began snapping the thick studded leather straps holding the saddle in place on its back. Not especially heavy compared to the Drake’s body weight, every little bit would help the Drake move that much faster and see them all back at the Tower that much sooner.

“Return!” I commanded, directing my thoughts towards the Patriarch that was still running amok out in the fog.

The Patriarch issued a trumpeting roar of displeasure in response but did not challenge the command or delay its return.

The retreat back towards the tower was slow. With so many wounded to protect, and the undead arriving in ever greater numbers, it was made easier once the fog was left behind. However, it still took another ten minutes to reach the intangible barrier that would keep the wld undead from following any further.

After passing through the barrier, progress slowed even further as the need to push the ambulatory wounded was no longer a priority.

With no place to keep the Drakes out of harm's way, my assistant and I led the Drake around to the north side of the tower, removing them from the most direct route of approach to the central fortress. It was the best that could be managed for the time being.

Or so I thought.

When it became obvious that I intended for the pair of Drakes to be left in that location, the Blighted Drake Patriarch eyed the immediate surroundings and then got to work. Supporting itself with its smaller forelimbs, the Patriarch dislodged huge mounds of dirt, moss and tangled roots with powerful strokes of its hind claws.

After creating a large recessed space roughly half as deep as it was tall, the Patriarch stepped out of the ditch and then began shouldering the wounded Drake inside. In spite of pained snarls and angry hissing from the smaller Drake, the Patriarch didn’t stop until its wounded kin was safely inside. Instead of making another hole, the Patriarch just settled back on its haunches and stared at me with barely contained rage.

Clear of the fog and no longer distracted by hordes of ravenous undead, I could now see the crude hooks anchored into its scales and flesh that connected to the chains and saddle still mounted on its back. Eyes now opened to the Patriarch’s foul treatment at the hands of its former masters, I couldn’t blame it for hating me in anticipation of more abuse.

I hadn’t exactly given it any reason to expect otherwise either...

*****

Nila set aside her helmet on a nearby crate and used water from a barrel to wash some of the sweat and grime from her face. She knew that she was just going to get dirty again in under a few minutes, but the ritual gave her some small measure of comfort and reassurance. Something Nila knew she was certainly going to need considering her latest assignment.

Nila could feel the giant scaled beast’s eyes on her, watching her, always watching.

His Majesty, with some minor assistance from herself, had spent the better part of two hours carefully removing hooks, barbs, and ingrown scales from each of the respective Drakes’ hides. Even before they started, the Drakes were littered with angry infected wounds.

Despite the immense danger, his Majesty didn’t falter, fearlessly and methodically treating each injury with what medical supplies could be spared from the original reserve.

To say Nila was in awe would be an understatement. She had witnessed experienced grooms baulk at treating the Silver Forks used by the Scouts and cavalry, and they couldn’t hurt you unless you were stupid enough to approach them from behind or stood within reach of their antlers. Both of which were usually offset by the stables equipment.

It worried her that his Majesty had left the smaller of the two Drakes in her prolonged care. Although not nearly as aggressive as the larger Drake, the smaller Drake was in obvious pain and its recovery was slow. There was only so much food it could eat before risking tearing open its stomach, which meant the Synergy would take longer to see the scaly beast to full health.

While some of the other soldiers were uncomfortable with the prospect of potentially fighting alongside the Drakes, Nila was more inclined to wait and see. It was clear that his majesty had both Drakes firmly under control, which had truly been put to the test when the Drakes were being treated earlier.

Returning to her previous task, Nila stoked her personal campfire and diligently stirred the cauldron hanging above it. Wrinkling her nose at the smell, Nila emptied another pouch of bark strips into the cauldron and gave it a vigorous stir. It was the second batch of medicine she was ordered to administer to the Drakes.

After stirring for around ten minutes, Nila donned a pair of thick leather gloves and lifted the cauldron off the fire. Setting it on the ground, she took a few moments to prepare herself for the prolonged carry and then set about doing just that.

A makeshift water trough had been put together by one of the engineers and although ugly to look at, it served its purpose well enough. Setting down the cauldron out of reach of the smaller Drake, Nila retrieved a barrel from the supplies stored nearby and rolled it over to the trough.

Thoroughly glad that the engineer had the presence of mind to recess the trough in the ground, Nila used a pry bar to remove the lid of the barrel and emptied it into the trough. She repeated this routine with another four barrels, making sure to set them aside for collection before tipping the contents of the cauldron into the trough.

The entire time she was doing this, Nila was keenly aware of the interest and attention the Drakes were directing toward her. She knew that it was likely just basic instinct that associated her actions with the pain relief they had experienced with the first batch, but their delay in consuming the medicinal brew left Nila feeling uncertain.

“Go on, drink up,” she insisted, motioning to the trough and then carefully backing away with the cauldron, making sure to well and truly out of striking distance before turning her back on them. Even if the Drakes were ‘tamed’ it was just common sense not to so readily turn your back on an injured beast.

With nothing else to do right at the moment, Nila loosened the straps on her breastplate and took a seat on top of one of the crates. Picking up a stray strip of jerky, Nila nibbled on it while observing the Drakes.

Similar to birds, the Drakes dipped their heads into the water so water could pool into their lower jaw and then they lifted their neck while tilting back their head in order to swallow. It was interesting to watch in a bizarre sort of way.

Looking past their obvious signs of neglect and abuse, their sword-like teeth, scythe-like claws and generally irritable disposition, Nila was actually somewhat surprised that she found the Drakes beautiful, in their own way. Dangerous? Certainly, but beautiful all the same.

The Drake’s healthier scales were a mottled grey with a variety of darker grey or black speckles. It made their vibrant eyes stand out all the more prominently, heightening the intensity of their gaze and amplifying the sense of danger.

They were built like a cross between a large feline, some sort of bird and a ferocious reptile. The Drakes seemed to prefer walking on just their hind legs, but their bodies were balanced so far forward that their forelimbs nearly touched the ground. To her eyes, Nila could only assume that the Drake’s long, thick and pointed tail was responsible for keeping the long-necked beasts balanced.

It was still the Drake’s eyes that Nila liked most. Although they were not particularly large for the Drake’s size, Nila still found them incredibly expressive. It was impressive that they could communicate so much depth of emotion.

Once the Drakes had drunk their fill, Nila began setting up her new tent, making the best use of the lumber left behind by the engineer to make a floor that would resist the mud. She found it humorous that it had taken a work detail caring for two giant murderous reptiles to secure a private tent. To add insult to injury, it was larger than the majority of officer tents as well.

Granted, it was intended to store at least some of the crates and barrels of supplies, but Nila was an efficient packer and figured she could probably keep as much as half the tent space to herself. More than enough to put together a proper cot to sleep on and still have room left over for her personal effects.

Unable to keep a smile off her face, Nila lit a lantern to better illuminate her surroundings and then began hammering in stakes.

It was well and truly dark by the time Nila finished raising her tent, so she was more than ready to strip her armour and get some sleep.

Waking up and feeling stiff and sore in all the wrong places, the power of ingrained routine saw Nila dressed and presentable in under a few minutes. Bracing against the chill, she decided that lighting the campfire to prepare the Drakes’ medicine would be a perfectly serviceable excuse to ensure a warm meal for herself at the same time.

With the cauldron boiling and field ration stew simmering in a small pot, Nila decided that the attention she was receiving from the Drakes was most likely more than idle curiosity. Dragging one of the crates out of her tent, Nila was certain she saw a look of recognition in the larger Drake’s eyes. Hardly blaming him, Nila lamented the fact that she was implicitly expected not to share the Drake’s food.

It was by far the worst part of her new work detail. To be so close to such well seasoned and delicious food, yet not to be allowed any of it. Worse still, Nila had to throw the contents of the barrel to the Drakes because they were too large to eat it off the ground without consuming a considerable part of the ground as well.

Prying open the barrel, Nila tried not to breathe through her nose in order to lessen the effects of the torture. She failed almost immediately.

Lifting the lid of the barrel revealed dozens of boiled Vrabbits soaking in brine. After eating heavily salted field rations for the better part of the past few months, the brined boiled Vrabbits could almost be considered downright civilian faire. So it was with a heavy heart that Nila began tossing them to the Drakes.

Nila petulantly watched on as four barrels of prime meat disappeared down their gullets, hating the fact that it had all been delivered by her own hand.

However, after settling down to her own breakfast, Nila remembered that someone like herself could just as easily suit the Drake’s palate. So she decided that it wasn’t perhaps the worst idea to get them used to a higher quality range of food that didn’t include Humans. Accidentally making eye contact with the larger Drake while quickly eating her own breakfast, Nila could have sworn she saw its tongue lick its lips.

It bothered her enough that Nila marched right off to the quartermaster and requested another half dozen barrels of edible meat be delivered as soon as possible.

However, upon returning to the Drakes’ holding area, Nila was surprised to find that his Majesty was tending to the larger Drake’s wounds.

“Your name is Nila? Yes?” His majesty asked, projecting his voice while rubbing a thick ointment into one of the larger Drake’s wounds.

“Y-Yes! Majesty!” Nila stammered, caught more than a little off balance by the special attention.

“Your superiors speak highly of you,” he commented, briefly staring down the Drake in response to an angry hiss before moving on to another wound. “I am told you have some experience with riding as part of your application for promotion to serving in the Asrusian cavalry.”

“Yes, Majesty,” Nila answered nervously while trying to determine if whoever had volunteered the information was doing her a favour or setting her up for disaster. She had plenty of experience being thrown from the saddle during mounted combat training, but little else besides.

“Good,” his Majesty stated and then moved on from the large Drake to check on the smaller one, “Consider this your promotion.”

“P-Promotion?” Nila stammered incredulously.

His Majesty nodded and then focused his attention on the Drake’s splints. Applying pressure to the area, he nodded in satisfaction and then began tearing free the ropes binding the splint in place. “He still shouldn’t walk, but the splint is pretty much useless now.”

*Tingling*

Nila nearly jumped out of her skin as the impossibly tall Rat-Kin from the night suddenly appeared beside his Majesty.

“I know, not enough mana. Just do your best *******” His Majesty ordered, the tail-end of his words distorting incomprehensibly.

The Rat-kin nodded and laid its long spindly fingers on the Drake’s injured leg. Then it disappeared, leaving only a faint golden glow on the Drake’s leg.

“Such an edgelord name,” his Majesty muttered with disgust before turning to Nila, “What would you call him?” He gingerly patted the Drake’s flank.

“Uh...” Nila wasn’t sure what to say. She looked the Drake over for a distinguishing feature but quickly realised the flaw in her methodology. Any distinguishing feature the Drake had would either be shared by every one of its kind, or would reference the signs of its abuse. Knowing she was expected to give an answer and was running out of time Nila wracked her brain to try and think of a name. “Cooper?” she blurted out anxiously, realising too late what she had said.

“Cooper?” His Majesty asked curiously and then shrugged, “Better than Dawn Slayer...Oh, because of the barrels,” he observed, nodding towards the empty Barrels awaiting collection.

Nila wished she had taken the time to don her helmet, cold morning be damned. “Uhm, yes, Majesty,” she admitted with embarrassment.

His majesty shrugged, “As I said, Cooper is an improvement...”

The smaller Drake, or Cooper as his Majesty had now named him, snorted as if in agreement and let out a tired sounding huff.

“From today onwards, Cooper is your responsibility,” his Majesty declared matter of factly, “Your new armour will arrive in the next couple of days, sooner if we take the central fortress. Congratulations, you are the first member of the Asrusian heavy cavalry.”

Nila froze, “Wait...What?”

“Riding lessons will start tomorrow,” His majesty informed her, apparently not having heard what she had said, “Just as soon as I design a damned saddle that doesn’t look like it belongs in a Vegas Lord of the Rings and BDSM expo...”