Page 32 of War Seer

Wodred nods grimly. “I thought as much. Can you guide me to him? So that I can kill him?”

“I can try,” I say. “He’s close enough that the connection is back, even though he’s trying to block it.”

“Then, come quickly,” Wodred says. “Stay low so that you don’t breathe in the smoke. I’ll protect you, and you can guide me.”

I nod, ducking down as he bids me, and we make our way out of the house on fire. As we emerge from the burning wreckage behind us, I can see the imps in the sky, swooping down and attacking the villagers. Screams rend the air, but many of the orcs here have served in the Horde, and they fight the nightmarish creatures as they dive down. It is madness and carnage all around us. There is no time to properly scry or track Grazrath with any finesse, so instead, I just lower all my inner barriers and open my metaphysical eye, straining to keep the connection open between us.

I can suddenly see through eyes that are not my own, looking down at the village. I feel the satisfaction of the demon at the ruin he has wrought, the death and pain of the innocent villagers all around him. I can also feel his hunger for magic, the watchful way he scans over the fleeing villagers to see if any have a magical spark. Focusing, I take in the buildings surrounding him, then yank back into my own mind.

“He’s on the southern watchtower roof!” I tell Wodred.

“This way!” Wodred says. I follow the orc general as we head to the southern side of the village, darting under roofs and trying to avoid the notice of the imps that fill the sky around us. When we get to the south gate, I look up to see Grazrath crouched on the watchtower roof. His black eyes gleam in the firelight, the archdemon unmistakable in his terrible silhouette.

“He’s up there,” I whisper to Wodred, who nods and takes a javelin off his back from his large quiver. He gets silently into position, taking aim. As he pulls back to throw, a familiar voice suddenly screams in the night.

“Kiva!” screams Sawa, despair and agony in her voice. “KIVA!”

I whirl around to see Sawa trying to run down the center of the village street, only to be pulled back by Kirigard. An imp flies away toward the watchtower, Kiva’s shoulders in its cruel grip. The orcling screams and struggles, but she isn’t strong enough to break free from the abomination carrying her.

If the imp reaches Grazrath before Wodred can kill him, Kiva will die.

The thought races across my mind and, before I can think too hard, I dart out into the street.

“Melelea, no!” Wodred calls, but it is too late.

Reaching into the depths of my magic, I pull out the illusion threads, weaving them together almost more through instinct than anything else, and throw them out at the imp. A huge dragon’s head made of light and fire shoots out toward the creature, who rears back in shock and fear, dropping Kiva to the ground.

“You fool!” cries out Grazrath behind me. “It is a mere illusion!”

But I am already moving, sprinting into the night to scoop up the small child and throw up another illusion that makes the two of us invisible, camouflaged into the ground beneath us.

Grazrath howls in outrage as we disappear, his easy prey escaping him. Wodred chooses this moment to let loose his javelin. It shoots through the air, his aim true and heading toward the mortal flesh at the archdemon’s center. But at the last second, Grazrath whirls and catches the javelin. The tip of the weapon pierces the demon’s chest, but not deep enough to be a mortal injury.

Grazrath snarls, dropping the javelin and launching up into the air. A shrill whistle pierces into the night, and the attacking imps suddenly disappear into the darkness, abandoning their attack. A portal opens behind Grazrath, who sneers, “You will pay for this insolence.”

Then he’s gone, and the portal snaps shut behind him. Just as quickly as the attack began, it is done, though the village burns all around us.

“Lady Melelea!” calls out Wodred. “Melelea!”

“Kiva!” screams her mother. “Where are you?”

I let the illusion over us drop and let go of the little orcling, who promptly bursts into tears and runs for her mother. Sawa rushes forward and scoops up her child, her own tears streaming freely.

“Bless you, Lady Melelea,” she sobs, clutching Kiva. “Bless you this night for saving my daughter.”

“I did what anyone would do,” I say, even as I shake from exhaustion. Using so much magic and mind-sharing with a demon has taken its toll.

Wodred comes up to me, grabbing me by the shoulders and looking at me. “You are well?” he asks, almost sounding frantic. “The imp did not touch you?”

“I am well,” I assure him. “I couldn’t let him get Kiva.”

“My family is indebted to you,” Wodred says, before pulling the cloak off of his back and wrapping it around my shoulders. It is only then that I remember that I am merely in my shift and blush. Pulling the cloak tighter around me, I get Wodred’s comforting musky scent in my nose. Like cedar, pine, and something else wholly Wodred’s.

“We need to put out these flames before the entire village is burned down,” Wodred says, turning away from me. The orc general starts barking out orders and around us his clan moves to obey him. Wodred moves away from me, stalking toward the bottom of the watchtower. He bends down and picks up the javelin he threw at Grazrath, before coming back to me and placing the weapon in my hand.

“It has his blood on it,” the orc tells me. “Will that be enough that you can track him?”

I look down and, sure enough, there is black sticky blood on the tip of the javelin head. The blood is noxious and almost seems to radiate evil energy to my eyes.

“Yes,” I answer. “With this, Grazrath will not be able to hide from me any longer.”

“Good,” Wodred replies grimly. “Because tomorrow morning we hunt the demon.”