I Swear I'm Not A Dark Lord!

Tanglewood

Otis

Otis's party of eight rented rooms at a Wokehaad hotel. This town had a train stop, so it was used to travelers passing through to other places, or even stopping for a few days to fish or do business with the locals. Nobody pried too hard into their affairs.

He managed to get Amos for a Healer and William the Assassin. Constance was his Evoker, Frank was a Scout, Redvers and Charles B were different sorts of fighters, and Nate was an Archer. It was a reasonably well-rounded group that had worked together before. They warmed themselves by the fire in the hotel's great room while William talked to the locals.

According to William, everyone seemed to know that a magician was building a glider course, though not one of them could explain adequately what that was, other than it was a new sport. But it was widely known that the "masked stranger" was out there, building something, and living in solitude except for the occasional visit from one of the town elders.

The Wokehaad denizens also knew the proxy had once paraded through the city with twenty spirits.

Otis made sure William gave his report in private. "Colonel, twenty spirits …"

"Our target likes to puff himself up. They'll all be lower first-tier," Otis tried to reassure him, "or illusions."

"Now, Colonel, you know I'm loyal to you. You've pulled my sad, sorry ass out of holes tighter than …"

Otis interrupted before William could get too colorful. "What's your point?"

"If you say he's a danger, and he's got to go down, then I'll help you do the deed. But when the others find out who our target is, they're not going to like it. They know your feelings for him are not exactly amenable to conventional reason. They might not go along."

"They'll understand when they see the proxy. I'll worry about team loyalty. You just keep your mouth shut."

If the Wokehaaders hadn't been so forthcoming, Otis still could have found the proxy. The road to Tanglewood split from a main township thoroughfare, narrow but well-made, and identical to miles and miles of road in Mourne. The surface was dark to absorb the sun's heat, making the snow quicker to melt. That, and the shape of the drainage channel, was as good as a signature.

Snow began to fall in fat, scattered flakes, adding to the thin blanket all around them. The inky road led them onward, drawn against the white landscape. When the road wound into the hills, Otis sent Frank and Redvers ahead to scout. They returned to report that the boy was roasting a spit of meat over a small fire pit, next to a tent.

"He's arc-sized, and wears a mask," Frank said. "Anything you want to tell us, Otis? Because I'm not killing your kid. I don't care what you think he did."

Amos groaned. "Damnit, Otis! I knew this felt off. Why did I let you talk me into this?"

Otis employed his Enhance Loyalty skill. "We're not going in with swords drawn. We're here to bring him in peacefully if we can. But be ready for trouble. He's violent, and he can use spells. So everyone buff up." These people trusted him, and he depended on them in turn. But sometimes, their loyalty needed a slight push.

The eight of them approached Tanglewood cautiously. In spite of its name, it was lightly forested. They found the proxy right where Frank said he'd be, in a circle of firelight. Falling snow vaporized in the glow. He didn't seem concerned by their presence at all. As they drew near, a magic circle lit up around him, floating above the ground in a twelve-foot radius from the boy. Amos grabbed Otis's shoulder to keep him from stepping over the bright symbols.

"Evening, Colonel." The proxy sounded bored. "If you came for the fishing, you're in the wrong place. The river's that way." He pointed back toward town.

"You're coming with us, Proxy."

"Do you have a writ of some kind? Maybe from the Emperor? The Governor? The Patriarch, maybe?"

"Come over here and take a look," Otis invited.

"I guess not." The proxy looked at them from behind a mask of dull black that swallowed up the firelight. He wore battle magician's robes of the elven tradition, close-fitting around the torso and slightly looser around the hips and legs. The design offered good body coverage with large, contiguous pieces of cloth, which made it easier to enchant.

"You, in the cleric robes," he said, "you should check your logs."

"Don't," commanded Otis, "it's some kind of trick. An illusion."

"I got a ping," Amos insisted. A second later, he turned as white as the snow. "Guys, I can't be here. This kid is a Divine Envoy. If I touch him, it's class death."

"You're just a healer," said Otis, activating Enhance Loyalty again. "You don't have to attack him. Just heal us."

"I'm not taking the risk. I'm out."

"William." It wasn't the first time Otis asked William to fix a loyalty problem. Will drew his knives and sauntered toward Amos.

"This is more important than classes or whatever bullshit problem you have with your son," babbled Amos.

"He. Is not. My Son! William, stop messing around!"

William crouched to lunge, but a hefty dwarf in white appeared, wrapped her feathered cloak around Amos, and they both vanished. William tossed throwing spikes along the most likely avenues of escape, but the shards of metal didn't hit anything, unless he wanted to count plant life.

At the same time, the night got darker as the boy's fire went out and the magic circle disbanded.

Otis enabled Defensive Positions, a party buff to group defense.

"Watch the Colonel." William popped a temporary light source and examined the ground while Frank covered him. Whatever magic they were using was good. The tracks stopped right where the dwarf tackled Amos. William thought he recognized the maneuver as Bastion's Interpose, but there should have been tracks. If the kid's summons were picking up class-like skills, then they weren't first-tier.

Eight became seven. Scattered flakes continued to drop from the sky.

Constance conjured a bright light at the end of her staff. "Guys," she said nervously. "We might have a problem."

In front of her, the path ended. But, as she swept a cone of light across the landscape, it shifted. Trees turned upside down, near features were suddenly distant, and unseen features were revealed.

"An illusion," said Otis. "Can you break it?"

Constance selected a wand from several she kept in a holster at her hip and shot minor spells into the bizarre space beyond the light. "I don't think this is an illusion. It's space magic, and not the usual, linear, expansion kind."

She selected a different wand and ran it along the edge of the anomaly. The rest of the team faced outward, in case they were attacked.

"It's not a spell effect. This is permanent. Third-tier, at least. I can't tell how much ground it covers, but it's extensive. We should leave."

"We just got here," complained Redvers.

"And we're already down a healer," Constance reminded them. "We're facing third-tier magic, minimum, and the creator knew we were coming. We gave a higher-tier magician time to prepare. Are there any more classic blunders you want to make today, Colonel?"

"Redvers is right." Otis leaned heavily on Trust The Team. "We just got here. We can handle him as a team."

"If he's so dangerous," asked Charles B, "why hasn't he attacked us yet?"

Nate's fingers rested lightly on his bow string. "He's watching, waiting to see what we decide."

Otis's skill pulled the team back together, and they stepped forward into Tanglewood.

Amos

"What is this? Who are you?" He was in a dark place, alone with the dwarf lady. A faint light shone from an object she held in one hand.

Her other hand gripped his tightly. "We're in a pocket space. They can't get you in here, but don't let go." She spoke with a thick accent, like she didn't normally use Orlut.

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From up close, he could see the feathers weren't clothes. They grew out of her skin. "What are you?"

"A summoned spirit, sent to protect you. Since you're not an enemy, Taylor didn't want you getting hurt."

"Who's Taylor?"

"He used to call himself Bilius, before your leader disowned him. Didn't he tell you anything?"

"Apparently not. Every time," he grumbled to himself, "why do I trust him?"

"I don't know. Why do you trust him? He seems especially unbalanced, even for a human."

"I served in his unit in Restoration. We all did. It's a hard bond to break."

They said nothing to each other for a while. Holding hands with a feathered dwarf spirit started to get awkward. Her nose was huge, and he kept looking at it. He kept trying to look away, but there was nothing else to see. His eyes kept getting pulled to the monument at the center of her face.

"You hold onto this," She pushed a shard of engraved mana crystal into his hand. "When it's out of mana or you let go of it, you'll pop back into normal space."

When she let go of his hand, she got ejected from the sphere in a swirl of white.

Otis

"He won't kill Amos," he assured his team. "It seems they're on the same team."

They had to advance in close formation to keep from getting separated. What little light existed in the world seemed to gather in the layer of snow on the ground, and the odd flake fluttering down from the dark slate sky.

The road had ended, but a path off to one side wiggled and threaded its way through the area. Commanders had a skill called Risky Decisions, and it told Otis to follow the path. Whatever the proxy was making here, people needed a safe way to get in and out. Sure enough, when they walked the winding footpath, they never had to turn right or left. As they crept forward, Tanglewood warped and morphed around them.

They didn't get far before a thick mist formed around them, blinding them.

"Constance?"

"It's a large area, but it's not third-tier." She touched the mist with her bare hands and felt the moisture between her fingers. "Water magic. Maybe augmented with an illusion."

That would be a serious problem if the illusion obscured their vision while leaving the enemy's sight unaffected. "Can you dispel it?"

"I can. But if he has a large mana store, I could be depleting myself for nothing. Your call, Colonel."

"Do it." Depletion worked both ways, and Constance was stocked with several mana potions.

The magician selected a different wand. With a wave and a whispered spell, the mists vanished. The forest around them was unchanged. The party moved forward again.

Less than a minute later, the mists were back. After dispelling the magic twice more, Constance was sweating. But the mist stayed gone. "I'm half down," she said before drinking a potion. "Sir, we're on another magician's ground. He could have a lot of mana stored up."

"We keep going. Everyone, stay close. Don't get separated. That's what he wants."

Something moved in the woods. They could hear it, heavy and fast. The party formed up defensively, with Charles B facing the noise, sword and shield poised to activate his Bastion skill.

A grunting, puffing noise reached them, just before a giant white bird winged its way over the forest. It was a huge pelican, larger than some adults, and it folded its wings to dive at their flank. Nate got an arrow off at it, but the shaft only nicked it. The bird collided with Charles B feet-first.

Too late, Otis realized the giant pelican was using a spirit equivalent of Bastion's Pop Back ability. It pushed an enemy away with significant force. But Charles B was a Bastion using Catch Attack, which ensured a nearby attack would target him and prevent the attacker from continuing a charge or other multi-target maneuver. But some Bastion skills, when they opposed each other, had interesting effects.

In this case, Charles B was launched like a boulder from a siege machine and collided with Nate. Nate was launched one way into Tanglewood's twisted folds, and Charles B went careening another way. According to Otis's Party Status, both men were injured, though not severely. Chances were neither of the men would be able to find their own way back.

Seven became five.

The other effect of the skill match-up was that the pelican was rooted in place, probably for several seconds. It clapped its bill twice and took a stance that was unmistakably a martial-arts pose, one wing shielding its body and the other raised to attack.

"Get it," Otis ordered. Constance hit the bird with a column of fire that lasted two seconds. When it ended, Redvers and Frank were there to press the attack, with William in position to inflict devastating Backstab damage. Their victory wasn't free: Frank took a blow to the face that broke his nose and eye socket, and twisted his neck.

When the bird "died," she evaporated. Normally, Otis would count that as a win, but some summoners could recall a spirit immediately after losing it, so long as they had the mana to spend. Given the proxy's many abnormalities, he shouldn't put it past the boy.

Charles B

"Right," thought Charles as he flew, "opposing Bastion moves." He kept his shield close and let his class absorb most of the damage as he collided with the odd tree or two. His body carved a shallow trench when it finally hit the ground. As soon as he came to a stop, Charles sprang to his feet, sword and shield still in hand. That took skill and perseverance, and wasn't something he learned from his class.

He had been knocked into a different part of the forest. His best chance of finding his way to the group was following the trail of destruction backward, but it didn't go in a straight line. The damaged trees and scuffed ground shot in one direction, and then made a sharp bend in another. He'd have to follow it carefully and not take any shortcuts. One misstep could get him lost for a long time.

He had no clue the attack was coming. One second, he was walking, alert to the forest around him. In the next second, claws stabbed into him from behind, into his armpits, where the armor didn't give much cover. Every muscle he had cramped and contracted, seizing him in convulsions. It was a proper stealth attack, but with lightning magic mixed in. He hit his Blowback skill and turned to defend, but the fight was as good as over.

His attacker used the night as easily as a child hides behind a curtain, popping out when least expected. It was another spirit, large and fast, that stacked stun effects on him with every strike. His muscles wouldn't move right, and became more uncooperative with every hit. Like most fights, it didn't last long. The opening moves had decided the outcome, and he lost.

Charles was on the ground, helpless and bleeding, wondering if he was going to die or if the proxy would be merciful. A bear-kin appeared above him, blue with white stripes. Or was it white with blue stripes? It was definitely female and grinned at him with long canines. She said something in Arcaic, kicked away his weapons, and rolled him over. Then, she put the mana-sealing cuffs on him.

That's when Charles knew he was in serious trouble. On the other hand, he wasn't going to die. The spirit creature rolled him onto his back and had the nerve to smile at him again, like this was some game she'd won, and he was her trophy.

"Why they call you," she said in slow Orlut, "Charles Bee?"

He spoke slowly for her benefit. There was no point in antagonizing her if she was about to spare him. "There used to be a Charles F."

She put his dropped equipment into a mag bag she carried, and threw him over her shoulder. "Be a good Charlie," she told him, "I no kill."

Otis

"Guys, we lost Constance." Redvers was looking where she had been.

They were down to four.

Frank sounded pissed off. "You said they'd be weak, Colonel. This is a long way away from weak. He's picking us apart, and we haven't even found the kid yet."

Constance

She was beautiful - a water spirit in the classic mold: flowing robes; flowing hair; eyes like polished river stones; a smile as cold as glacier melt. She embraced Constance from behind like a lover.

"Dream," whispered the spirit, and Constance dreamt. Of days before the Garem-Da, when they were so sure the Empire would expand again. A bigger, brighter future lay ahead, the one they'd been promised every day since joining the Imperial Expeditionary Force. There had been so much hope, then.

Constance dreamed. Dreams turned into sleep.

Otis

The first arrow went wide, and sank deep into the ground at William's feet. "Archer!" he shouted, and triggered Dodge, ready for the next one.

Twenty arrows fell from the sky at once. Otis raised his shield to cover Frank, who was nearest to him, and hoped the others would come through with minimal damage.

That's when he realized his Defensive Positions skill wasn't working. He triggered it again, but it fizzled out like a countered spell. Some of the arrows found their marks in William and Redvers. A second flight of arrows appeared in the sky. The spacing was perfectly even, meaning it was an Archer's skill, not twenty separate bowmen.

Either the proxy had more than one archer spirit on his roster, or he had one very good one that could use an advanced second-tier cooldown skill repeatedly. Powerful spirits could derive skills from their master's class or their master's needs. The proxy was pushing his roster beyond normal limits.

"Move!" he shouted and employed Tactical Movement. The skill refused to activate, but the team advanced enough so that Redvers was the only one hit again. William, who had an arrow stuck through one shoulder, struggled to drag the larger Redvers in his metal armor. Three shafts jutted from the bigger man.

"Colonel, your buffs!" Frank had been on enough missions with him that he knew what to expect, and this wasn't it. Normally, the whole group would have dodged the first flight.

"I noticed. The skill won't form up right." Risky Decisions was telling him the fight was over. They lost their healer, tank, archer, and magician in the first few seconds. But he had to press on. He couldn't let the proxy win.

For some reason, Otis remembered Kistur. The young man was a good follower and aggressively chased any goal Otis told him to. But whereas Taylor had beaten Otis into unconsciousness, he had done things to Kistur that the healers couldn't undo.

"I know why he was so much harder on me," Kistur once said, before he left the healers' care. "I was supposed to be his friend, but I attacked him. Twice."

Otis was supposed to be the proxy's father, and this was their second fight.

"Shit. Colonel!"

"I see him." The proxy stepped out of warped space, not forty feet away. His robes were black against darker black. His mask swallowed what little light remained to the night. He leaned a greatsword against his shoulder. Otis thought of another weapon, a mithril-imbued smallsword whose blade was badly corroded from channeling more elemental magic than it could handle. It was part of the Governor's collection of interesting weapons now. Meanwhile, the proxy had procured something better.

"I'm sorry," he told what was left of his team. "I never should have brought you here."

"You can still make a run for it, Colonel." It was strange that William, of all people, would be most willing to stand with him until the end. It seemed out of character for an Assassin.

"Don't engage." He strode forward a few steps, separating from the group.

"Just you and me, Proxy," he called out across the snow and dark. "Let the rest of them go."

"I don't do favors for my enemies. They came with you; they can fight with you."

Otis thought the boy still might be reasoned with. He just needed to find the right words. The proxy snapped a fast horizontal slash with his greatsword, clean and quick, warming up for the coming fight.

Or not. Something heavy and invisible hit Otis with the momentum of a train. Then, unseen giants trampled him into the ground.