The War Revealed (The Lost War Book 2) Read online

  The War Revealed

  Karl K. Gallagher

  © 2019 Karl K. Gallagher.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published by Kelt Haven Press, Saginaw, TX.

  Cover art by eBookLaunch.com.

  Editing by Laura Gallagher.

  Audio Recording by Laura Gallagher.

  Lyrics for March of Cambreadth used with permission by Sea Fire Productions, Inc and Alexander James Adams. www.faerietaleminstrel.com

  Interior art by Kelt Haven Press.

  Previously in this story (spoilers for The Lost War)

  Newman Greenhorn and his girlfriend Goldenrod planned an entertaining weekend with their historical reenactment group, The Kingdom. Instead a magic spell pulled all two hundred reenactors into a unknown world. Shock turned into a scramble to find enough food to survive.

  (ALL THE SPOILERS)

  The woods were full of orcs, which considered humans prey and hosts for their parasitic young. An elf sorcerer watched from afar, giving and removing protective spells according to his unknown plan. Many reenactors died, including the original king and queen of the kingdom, succeeded by visiting monarchs King Ironhelm and Queen Dahlia. Some people discovered they had magical abilities which range from trivial to useful to a mind control power abused to the point the owner was murdered. A massive orc attack on the camp was smashed with many casualties. Newman and Goldenrod were honored for their part in the victory by receiving noble titles, and celebrated by getting married.

  The land surrounding the Kingdom’s camp.

  In the Wilderness

  Newman had Cuirass as his partner because he didn’t want to stick any of his men with the new guy. Even after a few lessons on how to walk quietly he was crashing through the woods like a truck.

  Well, they were supposed to flush game toward the rest of the hunters. Being noisy by accident would do that as well as on purpose. Just as long as they found some game. There’d be a lot of hungry people in camp if they didn’t.

  Cuirass squeaked as a spear hissed past him.

  Newman nocked an arrow, trying to spot where it came from.

  Then it was obvious. Two green-skinned orcs charged through the trees at them, spears level. They’d been a rare sight in the month since the orc attack on the camp was smashed.

  Cuirass screamed as he ran away.

  There was no time to curse at the fool’s cowardice. Newman put an arrow into the left orc’s belly. It kept coming. A second arrow hit it in the eye. It crashed to the ground in a flurry of dead leaves.

  The other orc was almost on top of him.

  Newman dodged behind a tree, throwing his bow away to keep it safe.

  The orc came around the tree, spearpoint thrusting for his thigh.

  Newman had his knife out. The Ka-bar cut at the orc’s hands on the shaft.

  The spear fell as the orc let go and clamped both hands on Newman’s forearm.

  The hunter grunted with pain as the bones squeezed together under the grip. He kicked at the orc’s knee but the orc leaned into him and they fell onto the moss and leaves.

  Newman twisted, keeping the orc from landing on him. He kept his grip on the knife despite the pressure on his arm.

  His free hand punched the orc twice but with no weight behind it the orc just grinned. Flailing about he found a dry stick. He swung hard. The stick snapped over the orc’s head.

  The monster laughed.

  Newman snarled as he drove the broken end into the orc’s eye.

  It slapped his arm aside with one hand and clutched at the wound with the other.

  His now free knife drove into the orc’s neck.

  Orange blood sprayed out.

  Newman twisted the knife, digging deeper until the blood stopped flowing.

  Breaking branches told of someone else charging toward the fight. It was fellow hunter Deadeye, bow ready.

  “Hey. New guy said you’d been killed and eaten.”

  Newman sat up, wiping his face. “Yeah.”

  Deadeye looked over the bodies. “Nice work.”

  “Guess so.” Newman didn’t feel like gloating. “God damn it, I was only supposed to be here for a weekend.”

  “Cheer up. You’ve been here six months and you haven’t been eaten. What more do you want?”

  ***

  The clearing had been used for meetings before. Boulders and a few rough-trimmed logs provided a loose circle of seats. Its site on the bluff edge provided a pleasant view of the river. The afternoon sun gave it warmth.

  Goldenrod sat on a blanket-draped boulder. Facing the river kept her from staring at everyone as they approached. She didn’t want to scare anyone off at the last moment.

  The attendees trickled in, one or two at a time. The last was Lady Burnout chivvying on someone with cold feet. Everyone had shown. Goldenrod felt honored. They’d finally been bringing in enough food to start a stockpile for winter. The Autocrat was allowing people to take one day off a week to celebrate. Everyone invited was using their day for this.

  Despite Redinkle’s efforts there was no small talk going on among those waiting. Too nervous.

  Goldenrod couldn’t blame them. She was nervous herself. She stood.

  “Thank you all for coming. Please, take a seat.”

  She waved toward the circle. Everyone found a spot. A couple preferred sitting on the grass. Goldenrod sat again when they were settled.

  “We are all the people who’ve expressed some talent. Call it magic, psychic, or just a gift, we can do something that we couldn’t before arriving here.”

  Goldenrod let that sink in among the ones who hadn’t realized the purpose of the meeting. She’d kept it quiet to avoid attracting curiosity seekers or hecklers.

  “Think of us as the Council of Mages. We’re the first people with these abilities. We won’t be the last. We need to help each other learn to use them. Learn the strengths, the costs, how to protect each other, how to help those without magic.

  “We’ll need to talk through them. Brainstorm. Do experiments. Find a way to make the most of our magic.

  “Because, let’s face it, if we’re going to survive here we need all the help we can get.”

  Goldenrod put on a grin at the last part. Her tension eased as more grins reflected back at her.

  “This isn’t official. Or mandatory. It’s just a way for us to organize to help each other. If you don’t want to be part of it that’s fine. Do you want to form a council?”

  Affirmatives in various forms came from everyone. Not a single no. Someone asked, “Where do we start?”

  “With introductions. I’m Goldenrod.”

  Redinkle interjected, “Baroness Goldenrod.”

  “Hush. That’s not important here. My power isn’t well defined yet. I can say something. Sometimes it comes true. We’ve been experimenting to find the limits of it.”

  She looked to her left.

  “I’m Lady Burnout, the Chiurgeon. I can make blood clot. Even internally. It’s made me shy about touching anyone’s chest or head.”

  The next was a teenage boy. He held up his hands a few inches apart. Sparks flashed between the fingertips. “Sparrow. I do things with electricity. Recharge a battery. Or shock a grown man hard enough to fall down.”

  Several people stirred at that.

  “Yes, I’ll charge your gadget. If I have time. The Autocrat has me filling laptops and tablets for him alread
y.”

  The next was older than Goldenrod. She said, “Marjoram. I can make birds change direction as they fly.”

  Goldenrod watched the reactions as the introductions continued. Some were taking comfort in not being alone. More judging each other on the usefulness of their powers. A desire to toss out suggestions for their use, shushed to not interrupt the introductions.

  Many used their powers regularly. At the other end was: “I’m Aster. I flew into the air to escape the orcs in camp.”

  She flushed and ducked her head.

  “Did you do it again?” someone asked.

  “No.” Her voice dropped. “I’m afraid of heights.”

  Most people were polite enough to stifle their reactions. Only one laughed out loud, and that was cut short by an elbow in the ribs.

  “Helping each other with that sort of issue is exactly what we’re here for,” said Goldenrod.

  ***

  Newman had meant “Sounds like a guy I knew who kept freezing on the rappelling tower” as casual conversation. Instead it turned him into the chief of Aster’s training. Pointing out he wasn’t a mage won Goldenrod’s assurance that as a “mage in law” he could participate in Council business.

  He hadn’t expected this consequence of marriage.

  “Here’s the tree,” Newman said to the group. It was the most climbable tree he’d seen within miles of the camp. The trunk was knobbed with handholds and tilted back and forth, no part of it vertical. Branches sturdy enough to hold an armored knight poked out every few yards. He’d be willing to climb it with one hand tied behind his back. Both hands, if he had a safety line.

  “Okay,” answered Aster. She’d brought three friends for moral support, none mages. Goldenrod and Redinkle represented the Council.

  “The formal term for this is desensitization therapy. The idea is to expose you to a little of what you’re scared of until you’re used to it, then a little more, and so on. If you had a fear of snakes we’d show you a picture of one, then show you one in a sealed tank, then be in a room with one.

  “To help you with heights I’m asking you to climb up the tree, just as far as you’re comfortable with. We’ll have a safety line on you so you can’t fall. Going up and down a few times will give you a chance to get used to it.”

  Aster managed another, “Okay.”

  Newman gave her an encouraging smile. She hadn’t volunteered to do dangerous stuff. This was much more out of her comfort zone than that acrophobic soldier had been.

  There was a fork in the tree trunk thirty-some feet up. Newman scampered up and fed the rope through it. As each end hit the ground one of Aster’s friends took hold to keep it from pulling through.

  Back on the ground Newman tied one end of the rope into a harness around Aster. Fortunately she wasn’t one of the women who’d only brought dresses to the event.

  “Right. Now I need to test this to make sure it can hold your weight.”

  Aster nodded.

  Newman grabbed the rope hanging from the harness and lifted his hands over his head. She squeaked and lifted onto tip toes.

  “That’s good. Rest for a bit while I get the anchor set up.”

  Newman picked the heaviest of her three friends to tie the harness on to. The other two were to hold the rope and make sure they were gentle in taking up or releasing slack.

  “Remember. Don’t pull. She needs to go up on her own. You can help her go back down, you can save her if she slips, but never pull her higher.”

  When Aster took position at the base of the tree the anchor team took up the slack.

  “Sit down on the ground,” Newman ordered her.

  “Eep.” Suspended by the rope, she fell against the tree trunk.

  “See, the rope will hold you. Now climb. See how far you can go.”

  Aster grabbed hold of the trunk with both hands. Her right foot found a spot to brace on. Then she paused. She looked down spotting a foothold, but needed to gather willpower before lifting the foot off the ground.

  Watching Aster move made Newman realize how freely he could climb. He’d balance on one foot while reaching for a handhold, the other hand and foot waving in the air as counterweights.

  She would only move one hand or foot at a time, the other three anchored to the tree. Then he realized she kept her torso pressed against the trunk as she shifted hold, firmly enough to be another grip. That slowed her progress even more. Each time she found a new hold she held on with all four as she slid her torso up the trunk.

  He composed himself for a long wait. Monitoring the anchor team as they shuffled back to take up slack from Aster’s movement kept him from being bored.

  “That’s it. This is as far up as I can go,” said Aster.

  Both her feet were even with his shoulder. Newman suppressed a sigh. “Good work. Grab the rope with one hand.”

  It would easier for him to just reach up and grab her off the tree. But training her to trust the rope was a key objective of this exercise.

  “Now bend your knees to put your weight on the rope.”

  This was the act of faith. If she wouldn’t let go of the tree the exercise was futile.

  Still with both feet and a hand on the tree, she moved her body down enough to take up the slack.

  “Good. Now both hands on the rope.”

  When Aster was properly braced Newman signaled the anchor team. They shuffled forward, lowering her down until she stood on the ground. Redinkle met her with a mug of water. Aster chugged it down, pausing halfway for a gasping breath.

  Newman studied her. Face flushed, breathing rapid, jittering as she stood. Clearly she’d hit full panic at the top of the climb. But she hadn’t lost control.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Tired,” said Aster. “Let me catch my breath and I’ll go up again.”

  The second ascent went two feet higher. The third was faster, not because she was moving any faster but because she remembered where more of the hand and foot holds were. The fourth gained another three feet in altitude.

  As Aster drank Goldenrod took Newman aside. “Is this going to work? She’s holding on to the tree so tight her fingers are bleeding.”

  “I think it’s going well. She’s stretching her limits. Making good progress. My worry is her arms giving out. It’s a lot of work for someone with her build.”

  They went back to the climbing tree.

  Climb five brought Aster to a new bend in the tree. Newman would have rotated around to be on top of the trunk. Aster stayed on the side she’d reached it from. That left her traversing diagonally along the trunk.

  Her left foot had to brace against the underside to hold her weight. That worked for a few steps. Then a bit of bark peeled off the wood. Aster’s foot shot into open air.

  Her hands clutched at the trunk but were too tired to hold her whole weight after so many ascents. She fell, screaming.

  Newman opened his mouth to tell the anchor team to draw up the slack and hold her.

  Then he closed his mouth.

  Aster clung to a branch, well away from the trunk.

  Newman looked up and down the tree. The branch was at least ten feet above where she’d slipped off the trunk.

  He’d seen her dart to the branch through the air. As pure an example of magic as Redinkle starting a fire or Goldenrod slaying orcs.

  “Help. I’m stuck,” said Aster. She was on the underside of the branch, her arms and legs wrapped around it.

  “Help,” she repeated, a little higher pitched this time.

  Newman called, “I’m coming up to get you.” He scooted up the trunk.

  Aster’s branch was thinner than the ones lower down. It visibly bent under her weight. There was no danger of it breaking for now but Newman didn’t want to risk putting his weight on it as well.

  They were thirty feet off the ground. She was a dozen feet out on the branch, head toward the trunk. The anchor crew had taken up the slack in the rope. Still, if she let go of the
branch the rope would swing her toward the trunk. She might hit her head. Would her magic work if she was knocked unconscious?

  The good news was the branch was straight, no laterals sticking out to get in her way. “Okay, you can shimmy along the branch to the trunk. Then I can hold you and help you come down.”

  “I can’t move.”

  “Just move one arm a few inches, then the other. It’s like climbing the trunk.”

  “I can’t! Get me down!”

  Minutes went by. She wouldn’t move. He couldn’t go out there without breaking the branch.

  “Get me down!” she demanded.

  Well, getting her down he could do.

  Newman carried his multitool even though it didn’t see nearly as much use as his knife these days. The saw blade was still sharp. He unfolded it.

  Aster noticed the vibration in the branch right away. “What are you doing?”

  Newman didn’t answer.

  “Stop that!”

  He kept sawing.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  He was less than halfway through the branch when it snapped. Aster screamed. Newman braced to catch her as the safety line swung her against the trunk.

  Instead the end of the broken branch smacked him on the head. He lost a foothold and slid down the trunk. The multitool spun into the air as he hooked his arm around the stump of the branch.

  “You asshole!” The branch hit Newman’s shoulder.

  He pulled his other arm over his head to protect it from Aster’s blows.

  “Bastard!” That swing landed on his triceps, which would bruise but have no serious damage.

  The curses and blows continued. He found a foothold he could brace both feet on. Newman felt secure enough to look out at her.

  Aster hung in mid-air, holding the branch with both hands as she flailed at him. The safety line was slack, hanging down to her knees before rising up to the fork in the trunk.

  A blow to Newman’s ribs stung. Fortunately for him she didn’t have the leverage to do any real damage. A broken bone would make for a rough climb down.