The sound of a tree falling echoed throughout the jungle along with anything unfortunate enough to be tangled in the vines nesting on its branches. A man’s scream followed a moment later, but for the most part, went unheard, drowned out by the raging thunderclaps charging across the black sky with the pitter-patter of drums. It wasn’t the first death of its kind and wouldn't be the last, but the chance of a fallen tree was better than a guaranteed lightning strike in clearer fields.

Aldhelm called this unfortunate camp of huddled men home for nearly a month. There were no tents, command quarters, or any of the basic necessities to support a great number of troops. The lack of facilities was mostly due to him and his men being forced into the thick, unforgiving, jungle while in the midst of a powerful hurricane despite the near-freezing bite of the air.

A storm so cold and devastating was impossible even for the most well-trained storm forge magi, but it was nothing for orc shamans.

The green-skinned savages cobbled together whatever barbarous magic conjuring winds, summoning stinging insects, and cutting off the vellian force from the King’s Road several miles away. The few times Aldhelm tried to make his way back through the clearing, his attempts were thwarted by indiscriminate lightning strikes on their position turning it into an all-out killing field. The constant rain and hail stopped the jungle from catching fire while also irritating the living hells out of every stranded human.

Aldhelm wanted nothing more than to summon the lazy bastard of a God Vidar to somehow quell the unending storm and kill every man with green skin within 1000 miles. Unfortunately, his wishes didn’t matter. The god in promised severe repercussions for summoning him for idle matters.

What didn't count as idle in a god’s mind usually meant fighting other gods or being so outnumbered death was absolutely guaranteed. So, no matter how hungry he was, or how filled his boots were with mud and insects, Aldhelm had no choice but to bear it and depend on mortal assistance.

That assistance came in the form of Makarova Dreyark, or Rova as she was known in court.

Like in most instances where brute force couldn't win the day, her so-called noble family of thieves and cutthroats were called in. Their focus of invisibility made them excellent spies, assassins, and whatever else the king and only the king needed them to be.

Rova had been placed in the Aldhelm command with explicit directions to only act against the orcs within this region. If a wandering tribe of fey kin was to show up, she couldn’t be forced to harm a single one on Aldhelm's behalf without heading back to Vellia to get the king’s permission in person.

The extreme length at which the Dreyarks were controlled was not only due to them carrying out the crown’s dirtier deeds but was it was also because they were the only ones allowed to practice psychomancy.

Aldhelm hadn’t thought much of Rova’s mind-altering abilities before being sent on this campaign. The Dreyark’s never held much sway in court so it must not be one of the more essential magics.

It wasn't a unique form of magic. Psychomancy could be taught, unlike Aldhelm’s summoning focus. The king used Dreyarks for anything, it had to be for trivial matters. Every man of power had a need to bewitch his enemies and erase embarrassing mistakes. That belief changed when Aldhelm met Rova on the battlefield instead of a richly catered banquet.

With all her psychomantic magics passively active, Aldhelm had a hard time just talking to the woman without looking away. He also couldn’t remember what armor she wore, the style of her hair, or even the color of her skin. If he hadn’t seen her previously, there would be no trace of her left in his mind.

How were archers supposed to aim true at a target they didn’t want to see? How could anyone catch a thief they were not sure was tall, short, or hells, even a woman?

Aldhelm kept having to look at writing he made on his arm to remind himself he'd sent her on a mission to scout the enemy despite him giving the order personally. Dreyarks were bound to never harm a Bryer by the king’s own psychomantic spells. If it weren't for the Oath, he'd be terrified of being around any of them.

Someone knocked on the tree Aldhelm rested on as if asking to enter a room. “What is it?” he asked with obvious annoyance.

The only one he wanted to hear from was Rova. She wouldn’t knock out of respect though. The only one she answered to was the older than dirt king.

“Aldhelm, it's me, Osmund,” said a man in the soaking wet garb of a mage. “I have the letters for the men and the package you wanted.”

New life filled Aldhelm bringing him to his feet. The steadily dropping temperature sapping his strength couldn’t be felt as he grabbed onto Osmund’s shoulders shaking him.

“Where is it?” he asked with fervor almost boring on rage for being made to wait.

Osmund pulled out a thin stack of letters speaking in a jovial tone. “Is this what you're asking for?”

“Stop fucking with me and hand it over. I haven't seen her in over a year.”

Osmund’s smile never faltered as he pulled out a crystal ball from within his leather robe handing it to his friend. “Do you know what I had to go through to get that here?” He handed a bundle of letters off to one someone to be distributed, his true purpose for making his way to the front lines. “I nearly died when all that lightning came after me. Some of the reinforcements didn't make it.”

Aldhelm heard nothing as he activated the balling he’d been waiting for. Rova’s return would be nice, but it would not get him back to his sister much faster. With this balling, he could at least see her face and whatever she was up to after he left for his first tour of protecting the King’s Road.

Mildrith’s face appeared as he powered the crystal. It was a recording of her first bout in the combat mysteries some 13 months back.

“Can I watch?” Osmand asked cautiously.

Aldhelm laughed. “Of course.” He pulled him in for a side hug while patting him on the back. “I’ve made my choice, brother.”

Osmund blinked several times wearing his disbelief like a cloak. “Really, but I’ve barely talked to her. She may already have someone else.”

Adhelm replied without a hint of doubt. “Mildrith will marry you if I tell her to. Besides, she won’t want to end up on the front lines of a road war and with her focus, that’s where she’ll be headed without a last name protecting her.”

“Her focus is really that powerful?” Osmund asked.

“Powerful,” Aldhellm said, almost sounding offended. “Her mana constructs put most nobles to shame. She’d be the linchpin of every assault the week she leaves the Hall right up until a lucky arrow finds its mark.”

“Well, gods damn!” Osmund exclaimed. “The Tower is going to lose his shit when I bring her into the family.”

“The Tower?”

“He’s one of us Earthbreakers. A cousin or far-off uncle, I don't really know, but he’s famous on the eastern frontline. His wife has a healing focus, but their children don’t have her’s or the Earthbreak’s. Talk about sore luck.”

“Better luck than mine or any Bryer,” Aldhelm said defected. “The few dozen brats I have are all useless.

Osmund gave a shrill laugh. “At least you don't need to marry.”

“I don’t get to marry,” Aldhelm said, his voice thick with bitterness. “There is a difference. Thick-blooded nobles like you wouldn't understand. Now enough talk about my shit luck.” Aldhelm said powering the balling with his mana. “Let’s see how your wife-to-be is doing.”

He made sure not to let the mana powering the ball show the hidden images of his sister he could not explain.

Not for the first time, he cursed that they shared the same father. He'd thought about admitting his feelings to her many times. There was no one else that could set his blood racing like her. She did look up to him more than anyone else to the point where she might reciprocate his feelings. Alas, the fear of rejection or worse, disgust, kept him quiet.

All he could do was record her beauty with the enchanted ornament he’d given her to wear on her braided hair. As long as it was on her person it would collect her image at all times. And with a trusted mage close by Mildrith’s side, the balled images were neatly organized as if they were harmless.

If Aldhelm's plan worked out, Mildrith would at least not leave for some far-off corner of the Vellia or end up dead on a battlefield. Her focus was simply too powerful. By the time she left the Hall, word of her strength would spread. Every noble that mattered would want her on the front line of every war of expansion Vellia waged. Thankfully, he owned her right to practice magic so no one but his father could force his hand, but he would soon enough.

As an Earthbreaker, Osmund was the perfect choice for a trustworthy match. He was loyal and a decent man with little ambition but plenty of power to throw around. All he needed was at least one child with his earth focus and others with powerful magic of their own. Regardless of how things turned out, Mildrith would never be too far away.

Aldhelm's eyes furrowed at what he saw in the balling. There was a group confronting Mildrith in the rift to Alfheim the Hall controlled. That didn't make sense to Aldhelm. She was far too powerful for anyone to fight even in a team. But nothing that ended up on the balling had no meaning.

Both men jumped as one of Mildrith’s team tackled a large dark-skinned man past the balling's range. They watched on in horror as Mildrith was attacked without mercy by flame and Tanya.

The filthy little animal attacked with her summoning tearing through whatever defenses got in its way. Aldhelm wanted to look away when Mildrith took a fireball to the face and when Tanya somehow directed lighting without Magni's blessing which shouldn’t have been possible.

When Mildrith opened her second gate and defeated Tanya, Aldhelm jumped for joy right up until the dark-skinned man returned. They watched the rest of the fight with renewed interest, especially at how the man fought.

“How does he flash-step so quickly?” Osmund asked himself aloud.

“I'm more interested in how he cuts those blades so easily,” Aldhelm replied. “I've trained with Mildrith. Her blades don’t, no, they can't be broken like that! Even that little mutt could only push them out of the way.”

The tension dissipated as the fight came to an end. When the dark-skinned man began throwing up, Aldhelm realized he'd made the common mistake of pushing his body past what his cultivation was ready for.

“He hasn't opened his fourth gate,” he stated. “If he were farther along, flash-stepping wouldn’t cause him harm.”

Tension returned in waves as Mildrith sat on the grass with Tanya and the man to stargaze. They talked for a long while before the image changed to a magical demonstration in one of her arcane mysteries.

If the crystal ball wasn't so heavily enchanted, it would have broken as Aldhelm’s hand tightened in rage. He saw his sister smile at that man with the same smile she gave him. He saw her laugh with the laugh that was only his. If it were Osmund, then maybe but this was some… Aldhelm didn't even know what the fuck that man even was.

With Tanya attending the Hall, whatever he was being let in was not out of the question. Either way, he would need to be taken care of along with Tanya.

Elbert had been protecting her from the moment her focus manifested. If not for their father getting the king to assign a Dreyark to protect her, Aldhelm would have killed her by now. If she were to have children that became summoners, as small as a chance that actually was, there would be a beast kin branch of the Bryer family. Why his father and the senile old king would allow this was lost on Aldhelm, but he’d make it right as soon as he left this blasted jungle.

A finger poked Aldhelm’s cheek making him jump back, slide on the mud, and land on his ass drenching himself in filth. He looked around for who had touched him but found nothing.

“Over here. No, this way. Gods damn it. Follow my voice you fucking idiot!”

Aldhelm found the source of the soothing voice that made him want to sleep after being guided to it with shouting. Rova stood without a drop of water on her and not a speck of dirt soiling her tank top or boots.

He now remembered how her eyes and mouth were painted black. Her dark black hair was cut short, not even reaching her neck. Her outfit was just about what most would expect from a field day laborer.

“What are you wearing?” Aldhelm asked with shock at seeing a noble dressed in a peasant's garb.

“You ask me that every time,” Rova said, grabbing onto his face so it would not tray from her’s. “You must not be very smart. Most start to remember me by now.”

Aldhelm swatted her hands away. “Stop using your bloody mind tricks!”

Rova huffed. “So some shaman can hit me with something nasty. Fuck no.” She pulled out a large paper, handing it to Aldhelm. “This is a map with every orc fighter in the area in green and their champions, demigods, and leaders in red.”

Opening the map, Aldhelm found it had more detail than the ones made over the last year in the area. The orc troop’s positions were also in real-time. Most were moving to one area deep within the jungle, about 15 miles from their own position.

Rova pointed to where they were headed. “We need to attack right now. That’s a ritual to summon their own god. If they succeed and we counter with our Vidar, getting out alive will be a matter of hoping we don’t get stepped on.”

Aldhelm cursed, his eyes fixed on the heavens. “Yeah, not getting stepped on by their god, or our own.”

****

Rova walked the outskirts of the orc encampment leaving a trail of stones on the ground as she went. The stones were polished, pitch black, and each was of a slightly different shape. They'd never catch the eye of the wall of warriors standing ready for an attack.

If any of the shamans were closer to the front lines, one might have noticed the magic coming off the stones or the invisible woman walking up and down their ranks. Luckily for her, they were all working to summon their god via a ritual at the center of their formation.

Even from this far away, Rova could feel the mana they collected in the air. Vellian mage craft always tried to hold as much mana as possible, not letting any go to waste. The most obvious way to assess one’s power was by the strength of their spell’s effect.

Shamans, on the other hand, gathered mana in an area with rituals to cast their magics. Even though much of it was wasted and the resulting spell weak, the magnitude of it all made her feel like she couldn’t run fast enough when whatever they planned was unleashed.

Satisfied that she left enough surprises for the orc forces, Rova left for the opposite side of where Aldhelm’s forces would be attacking from. The fool wanted to charge in blindly after hearing the forest might become a divine battlefield. She demanded at least 20 minutes to prepare or the casualties would make stopping the raging gods a moot point.

When he refused, she threatened to make sure the king knew who was responsible for only herself and him surviving the battle. Now there was just under ten minutes before the attack. When she sent her signal sooner, he would attack, but the orcs would be killing each other by then.

When she was far enough away from the orc’s front lines, Rova started jogging. No water got her past her repulsion spell, no animal came near feeling the jaws of death coming from her body, and nothing with eyes could see her.

She implemented several spells to make her time in the jungle as pleasant as possible. As a Dreyark, she may not be a dainty noble girl more concerned with fancy dresses than magic, but she refused to be filthy, no matter how much mana she needed to use to stay fresh.

Finding what she was looking for, Rova came to a stop in front of a large crowd. “Chief, when do we make them pay?” said one of the hundred orc fighters waiting under the cover of darkness.

Rova deepened her voice and made sure to walk with her chest pushed out like any proud orc woman. “We charge in moments Corock.” Rova placed a hand on the orc's chest. “Tonight, we make them pay.” She looked to the rest of her forces raising her voice passionately. “We will make them all pay!”

The glassy-eyed orcs cheered for their leader not realizing she was a human in disguise. They cheered for the revenge she promised not knowing what wrongs had been done to them. All they knew was that their leader was great, and the orcs nearby needed to die for their crimes.

Rova noticed one of her war band was looking at her with confusion. Before he had a chance to see through her glamour, she sent a ball of misty purple energy from a bracelet on her right arm. The mist entered his eyes returning them to a glassy state.

Not wanting to risk someone else coming to their senses Rova took a minute to reinforce her control over them. It had taken her three days to collect them and a fourth to brainwash them properly. She couldn’t afford to lose them now.

With her orcs ready to fight, she made her way to the only one not looking forward to bloodshed. The man in question was no one special, just some young sentry she kidnapped using the small stone he was looking at.

“That’s a pretty rock isn't it,” she said soothingly as to not startle the man.

He looked up at her with the happiest grin she’d ever seen on his kind. “It’s the best. It makes everything just feel, alright. I can't really put it into words.”

Rova laughed. “It's fine, you’re not a poet. But you know who is?” The orc’s mouth moved with Rova’s, forcefully mouthing the words she spoke. “The shamans,” she said with the orc mirroring her words. “I should go show them. They’ll make a song about the pretty rock.”

The orc then went on his way with a burning desire to show the shamans his precious rock.

A few minutes later, Rova saw through the orc’s eye right up until she activated a spell placed on him when he got as close to the shamans as possible. The half dozen tainted beast cores she had him swallow exploded with death magic killing him instantly. Dark power filled the area reducing the ambient mana and signaling Aldhelm to attack.

Rova didn’t worry about the fool of a summoner. She was busy dancing a traditional war dance with her war band. They wouldn’t fight without performing it and mind-flaying the practice out of them would take weeks, so, she danced.

She screamed as her body swayed raising everyone’s spirits. The men hammered their chest and stamped hard enough to shake the trees around them. Empowered by their own unique cultivation, they throttled their mana, not just within themselves but with each other. By the time the dance was finished, every orc had a white aura around them more potent than they were capable of alone.

With a thrust of what they thought was a great sword, Rova's war band charged, but she didn't join them. As the raised shield against a hail of arrows, she headed for the shamas and the fully realized draugr tearing through their ranks.

Black smoke jetted from its whithered mouth and the several cuts made by brave warriors buying the shamans time with their lives. The few that sent hastily crafted spells at the undead monster caused no damage as the mana was destroyed on contact with its deadly aura. Warriors dropped dead after one or two sword swings while others died when they were grabbed and bitten by the monster.

Seeing the battle was in full swing, Rova activated the stones around the camp. Every orc not mentally protected by a shaman went into a killing rage. Every formation they held broke as brother killed brother. Moments later, the shield wall meant to brace against the vellian forces was overrun by human troops carving a path of destruction through the army she tenderized for them.

By the time Rova made it to the shamans, she was surprised some were still alive and her monster was moments from defeat.

With a staff ordained with jewels and foreign symbols carved into it, a shaman pointed it at the draugr turning the stone steps it was on into a pool of molten rock. the creature sank into the ground, whether it was burned to ash or survived could not be seen, but at the very least it was no longer a danger.

“You dare turn my people into abominations!” said one of the last three shamans standing. He looked directly at Rova along with the rest, eyes alive with magic. “I’ll deal with her, finish what we’ve started!”

“You’ll deal with me?” Rova said as she banished her focus appearing with a purple aura of thick magic swirling around.

Reaching into her trousers, Rova pulled out two halves of a baculous. She brought the two pieces together with a twist and an audible click right before an acid lance struck, splashing against Rova’s shield like water.

“Shadow bolt,” she said, casting one of her family's signature spells.

A mage bolt appeared on the tip of the noble’s weapons quickly turning an inky black as it bulged in size. It shot forward with a casual wave heading for a mana shield a shaman formed in response.

The shield might have held. Shamans not only had their own mana but the power around them and that of their clan. Whatever spells these orcs had wound were terrifyingly powerful making any mage shield one of the highest quality. But none of that mattered.

The shadow bolt struck the shaman from the side as its illusionary counterpart passed harmlessly through the mana shield. The writhing mass of black magic exploded against the far wall along with the majority of the shaman’s intestines. The spell continued to destroy as it died sending cracks through the temple as shadowy tendrils spread like vines.

Seeing his comrade die, another shaman moved forward hiding behind a pillar for cover. His rope opened, and a swarm of insects flew out like a buzzing mist, but the swarm stopped halfway to Rova who looked more bored at seeing the deadly insects disbursed, refusing the command of the shaman they nested with.

“Bug repellent,” Rova said as if talking to a child right before a shadow bolt twisted around the pillar blasting the shaman into chunks.

The last shaman, a very old orc with a missing tusk and a bad limp, didn't bother with casting spells or making threats. He revealed a knife made from the tooth of some large beasts and plunged it into his gut, an orange glow coming from his wound as he did with a smile on his face.

The mana in the air vanished, all flowing towards him going so far as to start absorbing the spells passive Rova was using. Her protective aura melted away as the shaman roared in victory.

“Chernobog!"

For the first time in 40 years, Rova couldn’t feel any mana around her. It was all absorbed by the god the shaman became.

His bones snapped as he grew to eight feet with horns protruding from his forehead. His eyes shifted into red orbs. The orc’s skin darkened to a deep green that could be mistaken for black. When giant bat wings sprouted from his back, Rova took off running. Her job was to kill orcs, not fight their gods. Hopefully, she could run fast enough to not get stepped on.