The drums of war were a slow, methodical thunder as the two forces closed. Kalpisos rode at the head of her line, chin lifted, voice clear enough to cut through the clatter. "In the name of my father, the chief—I, heir to the throne, will not tolerate such arrogance. You shall die by my hand, Kalpisos' hand!" Fifteen powerful orcs fanned out behind her like living ramparts; their armor caught the sun in harsh, dangerous glints.
Across the dust-choked field the enemy formed: twenty soldiers, disciplined and numerous. Their leader rode forward, reins loose in one hand, the other gesturing for parley. "You have taken a dungeon we claimed," he called. "This can be over. Hand us the loot and walk away."
Himmel pulled his mount close to Texan's and Recon's, voices low enough the others wouldn't hear. "We started something," he said, cool and flat.
"Yeeahh, I think we did," Texan replied, grinning like a fool at the unfolding drama as if the world were one big, dangerous amusement.
Himmel and Recon shared a look. This was an opening: a real fight, distraction, chaos—opportunity. They could filch the book in the mêlée or, better yet, collect a reward without dirtying their hands. Neither had to lift a sword for glory.
Kalpisos answered the enemy leader with a lie as smooth as oil. "We have not stolen your dungeon's loot, nor attempted to." Her voice was loud, practiced. Everyone around knew it was untrue.
The enemy leader consulted his shaman. A whispered counsel passed between them; the shaman's thin fingers tapped a rune on the leader's cuff. He snapped, "YOU LIE!" and the next order punched the air like thunder. "Take a life and then leave. Slaughter what you can; come back for more!"
The words landed like salt. Kalpisos felt the tide shift under her feet—she had many men, but most of the chief's force had marched away with his father. The burden of the village's defense had been thrust upon her shoulders. She made another choice, and it was a dangerous one. "Soldiers, charge and stall for reinforcements!" she commanded, voice steady though her chest tightened. It was a bluff. She sent thirteen soldiers to the front—ten of them level 3—while keeping two level-4 fighters beside her. She'd effectively put most of her power on the line near her person; the rest were exposed.
Texan's smile faded as he watched the math of the battlefield add up. He nudged forward, sliding from his horse until he stood where Kalpisos could see him.
"Excuse me," he said, moving with the practiced, reckless charm he favored.
Guards leveled spears. Kalpisos turned, eyes cold with suspicion.
"Woah, woah—calm down," Texan said, palms up. He bowed, theatrically proper. "My lady, you are… formidable. But you will lose soldiers if two of your best remain in reserve. You can buy our trust—mercenaries for coin. Let us hold your backline so your men can press the front."
Kalpisos frowned. "Why should I trust three level-2 kids?" But, she knew, there was safety in money.
"We're only level 2," Texan said plainly. "We won't win anything up front, but we're useful in the rear—spotters, medics, fodder. We're cheaper than hiring a level-3 mercenary and were right here, ready to work on the go." He flashed a grin; Kalpisos blushed, if only slightly—Texan's flattery worked like a thrown stone in still water.
She hesitated, watching her soldiers die by the dozen in her imagination. Pride warred with prudence and the weight of command. Finally she barked, "Fine. One gold piece each. My guards—front!"
Her two level-4 bodyguards pivoted into position and marched for the line. Himmel used the moment. He let slip a pair of the enchanted gloves—small, level-2 fireballs—and launched them toward the enemy backlines. They weren't strong, but they were a bite. Sparks arced and someone screamed. Kalpisos's head snapped around.
"You—" she said, surprised, and her gaze cut across the field to Himmel. "You're a dark orc, aren't you?"
Himmel met her eyes. "Yes. Don't be shocked." He didn't like the word chosen to describe him—"ugly," she said later with offhand cruelty—but he let the insult roll off. He fired a small fireball, then another, while fingers nimble and practiced set to work with the snake-rings he'd kept hidden for just such a gamble.
The identification magic on Kalpisos's book was nasty—recognition runes that tied the bag to its owner. Himmel felt the lock's bite through the weave of the leather. His snake rings slipped toward the pouch, tongues flicking. He watched the mechanism with the focused hush of a thief at a lock, felt the coil of the spell slowly relax under the rings' subtle ministrations.
Then the mistake: a clash of metal—the rings collided. A single, horrifically loud clang split the morning.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!" Kalpisos snapped, eyes widening. She scanned the crowd. The enemy shaman used the noise to his advantage, pointing at Himmel's direction and shouting of sound-magic. "The enemy shaman has used a disruptive bell!"
Texan threw a lie swiftly, the way he crossed a rope over a gap. "Sound magic! They've unleashed it to confuse our lines!" he called, loud enough for soldiers to hear and short on detail but long on conviction.
If it was true, they had to move. Kalpisos bellowed, "Move! Form ranks!" The lines started, metal screaming, leather creaking. The battlefield contracted into a single forward motion.
Himmel tried again—this time greed and opportunity had him clumsy. He slipped toward the satchel as she chanted, trying to snatch the book in the chorus of chaos, but the ring's earlier clang had painted a bright bull's-eye on his intentions. Kalpisos's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?" she demanded, voice a razor.
"N-nothing," Himmel stammered. For once his composure cracked; he had been found out.
Kalpisos saw through it instantly. "I'll deal with you later," she promised, then turned to her book. Her hands moved in a practiced sequence; the hall's dirt vibrated as she intoned the chant. Her voice rose clean and cold—she was young, but she knew how to claim space with sound. "DARK RAY!"
A thin, keening shriek tore from a magic circle spun at her feet. A beam of raw, unfocused dark energy stabbed into the enemy ranks, exploding with a sound like tearing cloth. Men screamed, armor buckled, and the enemy faltered. The tide turned; the attacker lost heart and broke.
Himmel used the opening. The rings—now less clumsy and more precise—slid the lock wide. The snake dove, snatching the book free from Kalpisos's satchel as her attention snapped to the battlefield. It was a theft clean enough to make a thief jealous. The leather thudded into Himmel's hands.
For a moment, triumph hummed through him. The enemy leader retreated, their lines collapsing like a rug pulled from beneath them; Kalpisos's voice rose in victory. Himmel signaled to Texan and Recon: run.
But the world did not let him go so easily.
"MY BOOK IS MISSING—HALT!" Kalpisos screamed. Her shout shredded the air. Soldiers turned, eyes searching, and a handful—too close—saw Himmel move. There were guards nearby, quick as knives. If they tried to bolt now they would be cut down before their feet cleared the mud.
Himmel's fingers closed around the book. For all his planning, two mistakes in a row had undone his stealth. Now they stood with the prize in hand and the noose snapping tight.
Around them the village stilled as if the whole place held its breath. The chief's daughter stood like a storm at the center of it, book in danger, eyes blazing with the kind of fury that gets people killed. Kalpisos's guards advanced, spears leveled.
Himmel looked at Texan, at Recon, at the nearest line of villagers-turned-soldiers, and the three understood the same thing without words: escape was no longer guaranteed. The skirmish had given them what they wanted—and then it had taken it back.