Touch of Fate

Chapter 195: From the Least Expected Quarter

"It looks like things have started." The Prime Minister Faril Couthbotan sighed, as he watched the red dragon take off in the direction of the Tenundian lines.

As a man who'd spent the majority of his adult life working nonstop, it was a little strange to find himself with nothing to do. His many duties had largely fallen by the wayside. Once a Call to Arms was issued, the civilian apparatuses of state ground to a halt, and every available resource was poured into the war effort.

The primary source of the Prime Minister's power stemmed from his control of the kingdom's tax revenue, a power he made use of to subtly direct events in the cutthroat Almiran court. However, a Call to Arms placed that power in the hands of the military until such time as the country was rendered safe. Reluctant as he might have been, Emmanuel nevertheless wasted little time in making use of this new power.

Faril's loss of influence was a natural side effect, and although he retained nominal control as the de-facto regent, his authority was largely limited to ceremonial concerns. Frankly, he wouldn't be surprised if this marked the end of his career, not that he much minded. After nearly forty years striving to serve the people of his kingdom, he had little to show for it besides a broken marriage, an estranged son, and a front row seat to a crisis that threatened to consume his country in the flames of war.

Faril had grown old. A simple truth he could feel in his bones every time he got up in the morning. The slow and creeping decay that had gradually transformed the bright-eyed and energetic young clerk into the weary minister he'd become.

"Well, old friend, perhaps its time to lay down our burdens, and let the next generation take over." He muttered gently as he looked over at the pale and drawn face of King Gregory II of Almrin. The monarch's strange mental ailment had left him little more than a skeleton under stretched, grey skin. His bloodshot eyes were staring vacantly at a point on the ceiling, as he continued to issue short, choppy gasps. Faril was a little disturbed to hear the rattle of fluid with each breath, a sure sign that infection had taken hold in the weakened man's lungs.

He remained in an almost vegetative state despite the efforts of the best healers the capital had to offer. Unfortunately, whatever harm had been done to the king's mind had so far been irreversible. If circumstances had been different, it might have been possible to request aid from the Druids, who had access to ancient and powerful healing magics. Alas, the underground civil war, followed almost immediately by the Tenundian invasion had made that near impossible.

Besides, events had already been set in motion. Even should the king recover, it would do little to alter the path the country now followed. The country already considered the king dead, as can be seen by the semi-abandoned state of the monarch's chambers. The only regular visitors were a resigned healer, a few gloomy servants, and Faril himself.

[Perhaps a quick death would be the best thing for him now.] The Prime Minister thought to himself, entertaining the idea that had been forming in his mind for a while now. However, he still didn't quite have the courage for it.

The monarch's gasping breaths suddenly started speeding up, taking on an agonal cadence that marked oncoming respiratory distress. Faril stood suddenly, mouth already half-open in a shout that would bring the royal healer, but the words died on his lips. Wasn't this exactly what he was hoping for?

He sat back down, and forced himself to listen as his oldest friend slowly choked on his own fluids. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain still as the king's breathing weakened and eventually stopped, leaving the room as silent as a grave.

For a time, Faril sat in shock, unable to believe what had happened, what he had done.

At least until the corpse suddenly sat up. A chill ran up Faril's spine as a pair of cold, lifeless eyes fixed upon him. A raspy, disgustingly wet voice issued from it's throat. "It looks as if this mortal form has finally succumbed. Good, we have much to discuss."

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Gareth drew another arrow from his quiver, cursing his ill luck. He'd been lying in wait for his dragon mounted prey ever since the battle started, and yet the mage had still managed to dodge his shot. While they still had other plans in the works, he had hoped to eliminate the threat quickly.

He had started lining up his next shot, which was a little difficult due to the moving nature of his target, when a nearby artillery commander gave the signal to spring the trap. While they'd already missed the best moment to launch their attack, but watching the net unfold, Gareth was sure they'd managed to catch the beast and its rider.

[Alright! Nice shot!]

His celebrations proved premature, as the mage simply lifted his hand, summoning a powerful windstorm, which pushed it higher into the air. At the same time, the dragon folded its wings and dived under the assault, narrowly avoiding the trailing edges of the net. It slammed into the ground with a thunderous, but controlled, impact, and Gareth quickly found himself face-to-face with an angry dragon.

Following his training, he strafed to his right, diving behind one of the disguised weapon platforms while firing in the general vicinity of the creature's head. A wave heat followed soon after, and he was forced to roll back to his feet and continue running, as the dragon's breath incinerated what was left of the wagon shaped device.

An experienced mage hunter, he knew his best bet of taking the creature down lay in finding its blind spots and exploiting them for devastating sneak attacks. His class, Expert Assassin, gave him access to several skills that facilitated and enhanced the act of taking an enemy unawares.

Unfortunately, it seemed both the rider and the mount were paying him special attention, since he'd barely managed to avoid the dragon's breath, when a series of wind blades came slashing down at him. Thankfully, his Magic Resistance skill gave him enough protection to survive the onslaught, albeit barely.

[Where is my back-up, damn it?!]

A cloud of dust formed around him as the wind blades impacted the ground. Gareth took the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat. Thankfully, it looked like another group had garnered the Dragonknight's attention.

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Mike cursed under his breath. The slippery archer had somehow managed to endure both his and Red's attacks and escape in the ensuing chaos.

[Gotta hand it to him, he knew how to get away.]

Deciding that it would be dangerous to stay grounded in the middle of the enemy army, he messaged Red, telling him to start their retreat. However, the dragon quickly replied with an angry retort. Somehow, he'd been caught in a mire of sorts, and was having a hard time pulling himself free, even with the aid of a few powerful strokes of his wings.

Suspecting magic at play, Mike quickly scanned his surroundings, noting five soldiers standing a fair distance away with looks of concentration on their faces. He didn't need Appraise to see that they were clearly mages in the middle of casting. Deciding that it would be quicker to deal with the origin, than try to counter their spells, he launched himself forward in a blast of Air Magic, pulling the Fang of the Primal from his extradimensional pouch in the process.

One of the mages ran forward to intercept Mike, a look of rage twisting his youthful features. "Eat this, you dragon bastard! [Flame Missiles]"

A dozen small balls of fire streaked towards him, flying in long twisting streams. There was a time in the not too distant past where such an assault would have caused him some concern, however, that time had passed.

Without halting his breakneck speed, Mike casually dodged the majority of the missiles, and defected the rest with his spear. They exploded into iridescent bursts on contact, but even then they posed him little threat, his Salamander's Cloak giving him all the resistance he needed.

"What?!" The young man cried in shock as his spell was crushed easily, and fear quickly supplanted the rage on his face.

"Brian! Get back!" One of the mages yelled, as a trio of stone bullets were launched at Mike, forcing him to divert his path slightly. The speaker was a stern woman that looked to be in her mid-forties.

[Ah, this must be the one that's trapping Red. A fairly strong earth mage by the looks of it.]

Ignoring the upstart newbie who had fallen in his haste to get away, he made a beeline for the woman, who was frantically trying to chant another spell. He could see the other three members of the team begin to move as well. According to a quick Appraise, two of them were Apprentices Arcane Mages, while the last was a Summoner.

All three of them started chanting their own spells, but Mike wasn't worried about them.

[Why are they so slow?] He wondered to himself. Having grown used to Instructor Johnathan's ridiculously efficient free casting, he found the chanting antics of the Tenundian mages rather silly. However, he wasn't one to fail to capitalize on opportunity when he had one.

With a quick chant of his own, he hurled a pair of stone javelins which impaled the Arcane Mages before they had a chance to finish their own spells. The sight of his comrades' deaths caused the Summoner to flinch, interrupting his words and causing the circle forming at his feet to falter.

To her credit, the Earth Mage was made of sterner stuff and, with seconds to spare, finished her own chant. "[Earthen Tomb]." She yelled while taking a step back, a grimace on her face as she started her next chant.

The ground Mike was running across shifted suddenly, as two roughly 10m slabs of earth flipped up and attempted to smother him.

[Not bad, but not good enough.] He thought to himself while channeling his own mana into a burst of air, throwing himself forward in a sudden acceleration that caused him to shoot through the closing gap. While still in mid air, he took aim with his weapon.

The Earth Mage had time to raise one warding arm before Mike plunged his spear through her chest. He tried to ignore the agonized gasp that issued from her mouth as he planted a foot on her shoulder, simultaneously withdrawing his weapon while kicking her out of the way. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he pushed himself towards the terrified summoner, who had forgotten every aspect of his training in his terror. It didn't any effort to cut him down.

Finishing the group of four, Mike turned as saw that Red was beginning to work his way out of the mire. Now he just needed to make his own escape. Which proved to be somewhat difficult.

"There he is! Quick, keep the dragon occupied while we take him down!" A confident male voice called from nearby. The sound was accompanied by the sounds of booted feet as dozens of soldiers moved into position.

While the low Tier troops didn't concern Mike that much, he noticed a few individuals that stood out more than the others.

[Looks like they had a team on standby, specifically for the purpose of taking me on. Hm, this might be difficult.] He thought to himself as he started using Appraise on the various enemies.